Holding Patterns
by Rianne
Summary: Just a little GSR early relationship fluff.
1. Chapter 1

_**Disclaimer: **_Dear CBS, if you hadn't made them so beautiful I would be borrowing someone else's characters instead wouldn't I, so therefore it's your own fault!

_**Author Notes:**_ A big hello to all the wonderful readers of my WIP story Stars in Motion, sorry for the delay on that story, the next chapter is giving me grief but I'm battling with it. (You'll all, hopefully, understand why when you read it!)

This one was just a whim… pure fluff.

If you were looking for a time frame for this I'd say early to mid season 6.

_**Holding Patterns.**_

By Rianne.

He had forgotten what this felt like.

Holding.

Being held.

Making contact with a warm, breathing, gently sighing person.

Just the sight of her in his bed.

The idea that this could be a regular occurrence if he wanted it to be.

Sara in his bed when he came home from a shift.

Or both of them climbing into bed together.

Smiling sleepily.

Curling for warmth.

For comfort, for contact, for pleasure.

So simple, so welcoming.

So previously out of reach he had forced it to be unimaginable.

**o0o0o0o0o0o**

Dating seemed such a silly and childish word for what they were doing. She was in her thirties, and he his late forties for goodness sake. Surely someone had invented a word which was better suited than boyfriend or girlfriend to describe such a relationship between adults.

But whatever title you wanted to put to it, it was going well.

Really well.

Tonight they had shared a good meal. He had cooked, a talent she had newly re-awakened in him. They had shared a really good bottle of deep red wine.

It had been so much more comfortable than their last date; he had insisted that it be casual this time. Formal had made her far too nervous, which had in turn made him a complete wreck. No, this time he had offered to cook, inviting her to his place, he had hinted that he wanted her to be comfortable and he had been pleased to see her arrive looking nice and relaxed in soft trousers and a tank top.

The movie they had watched later had been an old one, black and white.

Yet it hadn't been about the film. Neither had paid the characters and their misadventure much heed.

It had been far too pleasant to slide lower on the sofa, and rest their heads together, her cheek to his chest, his temple to her crown.

The food and the wine enveloping them in a sweet and lazy haze.

Her eyes had lulled and the next thing she had known was him scooping her up, carefully, romantically. Cradling her body close to his as he had made his way into his bedroom, lowering her to the bed with the utmost care.

His bed, deeply comfortable, had smelt powerfully of him.

She had made an attempt to question his actions, but he had soothed her, kissed her forehead softly, made wordless soft murmurings.

She had lain there blinking slowly, dazed by her new surroundings and wondering.

He had moved away then, easing the comforter over her body, and then he had been gone.

She had waited, more alert now, suddenly a million miles from sleep, unaware that a few feet away in his bathroom he too waited. Staring at the man in the mirror, seeing his distress and his desires. Knowing that what he wanted was simple, innocent, but that he was afraid to ask, and afraid to take without asking.

**o0o0o0o0o0o**

She forced her nerves down when she heard him return. Unsure if she wanted to give in to her desire to bury her head in his pillow and squeal wildly, or to simply spend the time willing herself to relax.

The room was dark; artificially dark of course, the thick blinds keeping the Nevada sunlight out. It gave her camouflage. Allowed her the luxury of pretending to still be asleep if she wished.

Her visual senses impaired she heard his slow movements about the room more sharply, heard him remove his shoes, heard something unzip and the careful attentions of clothing folded.

Then nothing.

What was he doing?

The tiny hairs on the back of her neck were tingling in that way that always seemed to alert her to his nearness, to the fact that his intent gaze was on her.

Was he going to watch her all day? Was he going to chicken out and sleep on the couch?

Then the bed dipped slowly. Her eyes closed to the darkness, it was the only way she could contain the nerves, the excitement she felt.

He shifted closer behind her and she felt his heat. Felt the bed covers waft in a wave of cooler air a moment as he arranged them over himself.

Then there was silence, barely broken by their faint breathing.

She tried to will herself to relax.

But that was certainly easier said than done.

She heard him sigh again, and then fidget some.

Then in one uncertain motion his hand came down to rest lightly on her hip, before cautiously drawing her closer.

Her eyes flew open, blinking wildly at the darkness before her.

His touch was shaky, his chest rising and falling rapidly, causing it to brush against her back. His fingers trembled ever so slightly as he settled closer, his hand sliding over her hip ever so slowly before his palm came to rest, curving affectionately over the faint convex of her stomach.

So gentle, she bit back a gasp, her heart swelling so big in her chest, her vision blurring as tears welled at the tenderness of his actions.

The lump rising in her throat had halted the whimper of surprise that had threatened to escape.

With a shuddery breath herself she fought the urge to suck her stomach in.

His touch was so light, yet the heat of his palm sank into her. Such a simple caress, but an intimate one. He was touching a part of her that was very personal, vulnerable, a part of her she considered imperfect, that made her self conscious, yet he touched her with such reverence, like she was precious to him.

There was a pause. And the tenderness rolled again as she realised that he was most likely waiting for her to move away, to dislodge his touch, and that saddened her. She wanted this so badly, couldn't he see that?

Blowing all pretence of sleep she lifted her own palm from where it lay lonely on the mattress before her and gently placed it over his. Her slimmer fingers sliding tingles through her as she caressed over the top of his hand before easing her fingers in between his much larger digits, squeezing lightly in comfort.

She didn't want him to feel the need to ask for permission, but she also needed to encourage him to act on these sweet impulses without fear of rejection.

A fool could have recognised her acceptance. With a longing sigh he squeezed her fingers back, as he moved even closer. Fitting her back into the curve of his chest, his hold about her middle tightening reflexively, his fingers taking up a still slightly nervous caressing motion over the soft material of her tank top creating a lovely warming friction.

He was so broad, he felt so warm, and comforting, and safe.

She had not expected this and that was what made it all the more wonderful.

He was a man who liked his space.

That she knew.

He liked his quiet, his organisation, his clear un-muddled spaces.

His boundaries.

He was letting her break them down, slowly but surely.

Little bit by little bit.

But that was the key phrase. He was letting her.

Her advances had been welcomed, yet this was the first he had made in return.

He had been overly cautious, had treated her carefully, had checked and double checked for permission.

And that she had been able to deal with, for a while.

But to keep waiting? How long did you wait?

This 'thing' between them had been slow to reach full burn, but it was simmering now.

She had been nothing but patient with him the entire time they had known one another.

Well, patient in most things. But patience had always been hard for her. It tested her weaknesses and her strengths.

They had always been un-quantifiably close, able in matters of work to finish each other's sentences, to communicate without words. It had simply taken longer for them to settle into the ways of just being together without the buffer of science and the Lab and its rules.

The intimacy had always been there, tangling in and out of their complicated friendship and buoying their burgeoning attraction. But now it had new weight, new possibilities, all good, but tinged with nervousness and worries.

They were so familiar to one another; they knew so many random little things, yet there was so much left to learn.

She'd been patient, she had known he would need that, but she had so desperately wanted him to make that step, that one gesture. To show her that he was as invested in this as she was. Any sign would have done. She had just wanted him to want to make it.

She knew he was nervous and vulnerable, but so was she. She needed his reassurances as much as he needed hers.

And he had done it. Finally.

He had reached out to her, literally, figuratively.

And this, yeah, this was a surprise.

She had been imagining words, he was a man of words and consideration after all.

In a way a simple physical gesture meant so much more.

The warm weight of his touch. The sleeve of the soft cotton t-shirt he wore brushing against her bare and deliciously sensitive upper arm.

It confirmed it.

He had reached out and touched her, embraced her, wanted to initiate the contact.

He had finally realised that he could.

He really did care about her.

She'd always wanted to be held like this by him. It had been the daydream she had clung too, as she had clutched her pillow to her breast and sobbed after the hardest shifts.

The path to their current entanglement had been slow, but it had also been at times satisfying, frustrating and emotionally fulfilling.

Worked hard for.

He was a creature of habit. She knew how hard it must have been for him for him to adapt. To take risks. He was breaking his routines to be with her.

But there was of course no better encouragement than realising your dreams were not only achievable, but also coming true.

Yet she was still taken by surprise by the little things.

This vulnerable Grissom was very new.

It wasn't like he had ever shied away from any of her light physical affections, quite the opposite in fact, he had always welcomed her touch with a smile, and even more if they were alone and he had always been forgiving when she just couldn't help herself.

She knew she pushed him sometimes. Flaunted the unspoken rules between them.

But she liked to touch. Sometimes she just couldn't keep her hands away and all the little ways of teasing him at work came flitting through her mind and taunted her to make contact with him.

A brush of fingers here and there, leaning so close her breasts brushed his arm.

Just because she knew now that she could.

It was fun to tease him, provoke him, so easy to get a rise out of someone usually so stoic.

Especially when she knew there might be some pleasant repercussions, when she knew that he was free to act on all the responsive impulses she saw gleaming in his eyes that told her he was onto her and her mischief.

But he hadn't acted quite yet.

Kissing him had been wonderful, deep, heated, hungry, lasting for hours. But their touching had been less, light, more restrained. She wanted more, wanted to share complete intimacy with him, but he was holding back.

That was something she just would not push him into. Not just yet anyway. She was still comfortable enough to wait a little longer on that front. Pleasantly frustrated and enduring it well.

And so instead she was taking advantage of this time. Without questioning her good fortune.

This time to get used to being close to him. This time to enjoy the temptation, the anticipation, the building desire.

She was learning him.

Learning his private ways, the ways she wondered if he had ever shown to another.

But she didn't linger on thoughts like that. The past didn't matter. The present did.

And in the present she lay, curled and wonderfully warm in his arms.

And closing her eyes she luxuriated happily in his rare show of affection.

**o0o0o0o0o0o**

Decency dictated that he should have slept on the couch. It was comfortable enough, he knew that from experience.

Yet this was Sara, temptation personified.

The idea of her sleeping in his bed all alone.

Not to mention the fact that she would probably be angry that he didn't sleep beside her. He could picture it now, she would say he was being stupid, old fashioned, she'd mock him and he hated when she did that. He always had. He'd always wanted to kiss that smug look right off her face.

And now he could, if he wanted too.

And suddenly that was a problem.

Adjustment was a word he didn't like. And that made him officially an idiot. What man in their right mind wouldn't want to climb into bed with the woman that lay curled in his arms right now?

What man in his forties would hold back in offering his affection out of respect, when he knew full well he could restrain himself in respect to his other baser drives, hell he'd been doing it for years.

But it was different now.

He had unspoken permission to touch her if he wanted too.

She reached out for him whenever she wanted to, usually at the most inappropriate times.

She made it seem so effortlessly easy.

If someone could manufacture something, anything, which would stop his ears from turning bright red whenever she touched him at work, when she knew damn well she shouldn't, he would forever be indebted to them.

He'd name a bug after them!

But he didn't want to rush this. Didn't want to give her the idea that he wanted to rush or pressure her.

What rule out there dictated that adults in a relationship had to leap straight from kissing headfirst into bed?

No one could honestly expect a relationship started like that to last.

And he had too many hopes, and dreams, resting on this one to make him uncomfortable enough already.

It was all going so well, yes there were awkward moments, but he'd dated women in the past when the entire date could be classed as one huge giant awkward moment, but with Sara…

He couldn't mess this up.

Yet procrastination was a huge failing on his part. It was great for solving crimes, murderers had been caught, liars, rapists, arsonists, yet when it came to women…

Taking risks, albeit calculated risks, was officially terrifying and all at once exhilarating.

He'd done it.

To the outside world he had simply wrapped his arm about her.

Yet in terms of them and what really mattered it was a triumph.

He had pondered it for more than an hour. Ever since he had realised that not only was she not watching the film, or just resting her head on him and daydreaming, but her eyes were closed and she was essentially asleep.

The tempting idea had drifted in to his consciousness as he had peered down at her as she leaned against his chest, the slope of her nose, the long dark eyelashes that lay still against her sweetly freckled cheeks.

He could actually place a date on the invention of this particular and extremely simple Sara fantasy. Many of the other daydreams, certainly many of the much more salacious imaginings his brain had conjured, he couldn't remember when, but this one was sharp.

He had wondered what it would be like to sleep with his arms around her ever since he had come across her asleep in the break room. She had collapsed, slightly sprawled like a rag doll with her head supported on her arms over a table, as if she had intended to rest her eyes for just a moment. It had happened only a few months after she had arrived in Vegas. They had been working on the case of Kay Shelton, killed by her abusive husband.

He hadn't known then what he now knew about Sara's past, but the urge to protect her had been new and overwhelmingly uncomfortable to him at the time. Especially as she had followed it some hours later by asking him if he wanted to sleep with her. Yeah, that had been a conversation and a half.

His whole body had surged at her blunt words.

He'd wanted too.

He hadn't been able to shake the idea of holding her just like this.

God, had it really taken him that long to get to this point?

But he was here, and she fit into his arms so well.

She had welcomed his touch, he wasn't sure why he had doubted that she would, but her encouraging clasp of his hand had made his heart soar.

She cared about him.

He wondered if he would ever be able to get into bed without her again.

He'd feel so lost, so lonely, the bed so empty.

She was warm. Her warmed skin sweetened the air around them.

She smelt faintly of coconut and something softer.

Her tumbled curls tickled his nose as he nuzzled intimately into the curve of her neck hearing her sigh, feeling her squirm closer.

The scent there was warmer, stronger.

She smelt like comfort.

When was the last time he had held, or been held for that matter?

It was painful that he didn't remember.

He had craved this kind of contact with her for so long.

He was so tired, but he didn't want to close his eyes, not yet anyway.

He didn't want to miss this.

But her breathing was beginning to slow.

Her body rising and falling, against his arm, against his chest.

His own breathing settling into a rhythm with hers.

Slower and slower.

As they surrendered to sleep.


	2. Chapter 2

_**Disclaimer: **_Dear CBS, if you hadn't made them so beautiful I would be borrowing someone else's characters instead wouldn't I, so therefore it's your own fault!

_**Author Notes:**_ A big hello to all the wonderful readers of my WIP story Stars in Motion, sorry for the delay on that story, the next chapter is giving me grief but I'm battling with it. (You'll all, hopefully, understand why when you read it!)

This one was just a whim… pure fluff.

If you were looking for a time frame for this I'd say early to mid season 6.

I would like to say a HUGE wow and thank you to all the people who have reviewed the first part of this, and put it on their alerts and favourite story lists. Gob-smacked was a nice word I used; the others aren't allowed in a K+ story!! (And a lovely thank you to Judy Kirsten for the review, I always like to reply personally, slightly tricky with anon reviews ;)! So Thank You!!)

To be completely honest I hadn't planned to write any more to this story. It was a scribble! I was just having a crappy day and like to write my way out of those… But as so many people wrote to tell me that they wanted more I have had a little think, shouldn't do crazy things like that I know…

I hope this works!!

**Holding Patterns.**

By Rianne.

_Chapter 2._

Caring.

He had forgotten what it felt like to know that someone cared when you had your worst of days.

To know that someone noticed.

His head hurt. The signs were there. All the signs.

The migraine signs.

Stars around his already clouded field of vision, the stirring throb at the base of his skull, the urge to steal the hooded sweater from a rogue teenager and pull the hood strings tight until he couldn't see out any more.

This one was going to be a bad one.

**o0o0o0o0o0o**

The day had ended for him by starting out so well.

Yeah, that was the confusion of working the night shift. It played havoc with the English language.

Waking to start his day as everyone else was preparing to wind down from theirs.

But he had slept. Deep, dreamless, comfortable sleep.

It had been wonderful.

And it was all her fault.

Sara.

Sara Sidle.

His body, usually so attuned to waking at the same moment each evening even if he hadn't for whatever reason remembered to set his alarm, woke him in a different way.

He usually flicked his eyes open, swung out a palm ready to silence the sound, but tonight was different.

Tonight he let the alarm ring. His eyes remaining closed.

Instead he drew the stirring warmth in his arms closer.

Reluctant to move.

You couldn't have bribed him with anything.

"Ignore it."

It was more of a sigh than a command. Breezed warmly, growly, against the sensitive furls of her ear as he felt her echoing sigh of contentment slide through her body.

Wait what?

Was that really his voice?

Was that really him; Gilbert Grissom telling her to ignore the ringing alarm, which she obviously knew was set to wake them for work?

Unthinkable!

He almost moaned audibly as she wiggled back into him more. Not that there was a whole lot of more right now.

They were still pressed warm and tight.

Neither had been foolish enough to move during sleep.

With the horrors they saw on a daily basis the nights that either one of them slept soundly were few and far between.

Last night had been the most relaxing both had enjoyed for a long time.

But this morning it was different.

She moved again, her sleepy slow and lazy motions sliding further and further away from comfortable innocent cuddling and easing helplessly lower into something so much more delicious.

He shifted behind her again, the motion paining him but he had to try and ease back without being obvious; his pelvis cradled to her gave him no shelter.

None at all.

She had to know.

She had to feel it.

But she said nothing.

Her handhold tightening around his as she felt him try to ease back, just as reluctant as he was to break the sleepy intimacy between them.

And she certainly hadn't leapt from the bed.

That had to be a very good sign.

But she was moving again, nuzzling him with her whole body, actively trying to drive him crazy, or maybe so sleepy she wasn't fully aware in that amazing brain of hers what she was essentially doing to him.

"Sara," it was a hoarse gasp. Edged with frantic.

A warning.

A last chance to behave.

He was trying so hard here.

Hard!

But he really did mean everything he had vowed to himself last night, watching her sleep against his chest on his couch. The black and white movie fluttering over the pale glowing curve of her cheek.

He would not rush this.

He'd drive himself and her completely crazy most likely, but he still wanted to wait.

Not to mention that they really had to move soon or they would both be conspicuously late for work. On the same night, the same amount of late, probably with huge naughty grins that they couldn't fight.

But they lingered a little longer.

Eyes still closed, his nose still in her curve of her neck.

He would never be able to smell coconut again and not think of this day.

Moments like this were rare.

And then shattered as the alarm once again blasted through the air around them, bored of snoozing.

Sara's sleep husky regretful chuckle reverberated down her spine.

Oh she really had to stop that!

With her laughter slowly fading she uncurled her fingers from his, lifting her hand to rub against her sleepy eyes.

The frustrated groan and accompanying sensual cat like stretch that followed almost broke him.

All that lithe energy stirring.

His was the most natural male response in the world, but that didn't stop it from being pretty embarrassing.

Especially as the motion had caused her top to rise up and his palm had somehow found its way under to the warm achingly soft flesh beneath.

For a moment everything stopped.

He felt her freeze, and then slowly begin to relax into his touch.

His fingers were moving lightly, without his permission, exploring this newly revealed territory, unable to stop, the very tip of his middle finger dipping lightly into her belly button.

He heard her breath catch.

Felt her head loll back against him.

The muscles beneath her soft flesh jumping as he teased caresses.

Then another sound shattered everything.

The irritating, shuddering beat and vibration of his cell phone on his bedside table.

She made a slightly strangled sound, which echoed his own thoughts exactly.

If he had been in reaching distance of something heavy, like a brick, or War and Peace, or an anvil, he would have fractured that plastic like the worlds strongest man.

As it was he huffed an anguished sigh.

Feeling her relax against him once more with a huff of her own resigned disappointment.

He pressed his next sigh into a light kiss against the bare skin of her shoulder, gently easing her top back down, smoothing the fabric tenderly.

Before leaning over her to secure the offending technology.

"Grissom."

**o0o0o0o0o0o**

The night had soured in a single long throbbing heartbeat.

The boy, no more than eight, nine at the most, his battered and broken body sprawled.

Missing no more than five hours.

The distraught parents.

Their wailing and their pain.

Their hopelessness.

Their questions.

He had needed time to answer them. To find answers to the questions in his own mind.

But he knew the chances of logical simple conclusions were slim to none.

The rain.

The usually steady skies over Vegas had stormed, had ruined any chances of finding any trace evidence left behind.

Had washed away everything but the pain, the broken bones, and the bruises, which graced the child's face and body in his last moments.

The autopsy had felt long.

Doc Robbins usual humour noticeably absent.

Gil had stood by, the child's last sentry.

He cared.

He showed it in his own ways.

But this case was special.

He had always told his team, had told each member several times that they couldn't let the cases be special.

But he was special.

This child could have been him.

A younger him.

He was the image of him at eight, curly hair, glasses and skinny limbs, schoolbag stuffed with science books and comics.

The boy hadn't made it home from school. Hadn't been missing long enough for PD to man a real search.

His questioned schoolteacher had described a shy, awkward boy with little or no friends, kept his nose in a book and his words short. But he was smart.

His young, terrified of policemen, classmates had admitted to teasing.

Bullied.

Not old enough to learn the talents and power of becoming a ghost. A boy who had wanted more from life and hadn't been able to wait long enough to realise that life got better once you left school, that his tormenters and bullies were just equally small frightened children with their own fears and their own worries.

He had bragged about running away.

And he had run straight into the hands of what looked like men, the force of the trauma too brutal to have been administered by a child.

Larger bullies who hadn't learnt. Whose desperate lives had driven them to steal from children.

The only thing missing from his schoolbag was the small expensive calculator he had begged for as a Christmas gift.

The treasured aid to learning he had lost his life to try and keep tight hold of.

The waste.

It was unfathomable.

And untraceable, there was no process-able evidence.

A dead end.

A dead child.

**o0o0o0o0o0o**

Grissom's head hung low as his feet seemed to sink with each step he made back to his office.

Hopelessness made the world darker around him and his limbs heavier since the sweetness of the early evening.

How could it be that this case was the unsolvable one?

Where was the sense of cosmic justice?

Where was the backup of the clear-cut answers of his one constant; science.

His foundations were crumbling.

He just wanted to shut himself away.

His fingers scrambled through his desk drawer, his brain cringing at the tumble and rattle of the contents as he searched for the thin orange-labelled bottle that contained some small semblance of relief.

The lights behind his eyes were dancing. His every pained heartbeat was echoed tenfold.

Outside the lab the sun was just coming up, but in the cavern of his office he tilted the blinds to shade, flicked off the lights.

Sitting made him nauseous, standing made him dizzy.

Lying down made his stomach muscles clench and heave.

He swallowed the pills with a mouthful of long cold, bitter coffee.

Scrubbing his hand harshly over his lips to remove the excess.

Even his teeth hurt.

He had begun pacing restlessly, the dull weight of his footsteps counting off the passage of time, as his brain instinctively tried to find the one place in his office which was sheltered from the nauseating sounds of the Lab going about its business all around him.

He couldn't leave yet.

He had to wait. Wait until the pills took their soothing hold.

Then he could call a cab. Only then would he be remotely ready to face the rising sun and the Lab Techs who would no doubt hound his exit with questions so trivial.

He could hear the minutes ticking onwards and away with every dull thump of his broken heartbeat.

When the door behind him opened suddenly, the invader sure enough in their place that they saw no reason to knock, he immediately reached for the nearest book on the shelf before him.

He didn't look at the title that graced the spine.

But it was a futile defensive gesture.

He could never fool her.

He didn't need to turn to recognise the footfalls that slowly approached him.

He just knew.

He felt the wonderful lazy quietness of her as she stepped up behind him.

She didn't need to say anything.

She knew that.

The gentle palm she placed right between his shoulder blades made him screw his eyes closed.

He wasn't sure he could deal with her comfort.

If he could keep his control when she reached out so tenderly. When she offered him what he so desperately wanted, but fought.

When she let on that she knew he was vulnerable. When she told him that it was okay to be.

His lip caught between his teeth to hold back the sob.

His whole body tensing when the pain of his bite was not enough.

She couldn't miss that.

His muscles shuddered.

The book clutched too tight in his fist fell forgotten to the floor from suddenly trembling fingers as another uncontrollable wave hit.

Her palm soothed a motion, fingers spreading in a caress before sliding downward, encircling his waist as its mate slid around to join it, drawing him close.

Counterbalance.

Care.

Comfort.

His new constant.

She moved closer, her hold tightening as another sob rumbled through him in defiance of his wishes.

He felt her body lean closer until she was pressing fully against him. Her softness furling around his slumped form.

Felt the sympathetic curve of her cheek press against his back.

Felt her hot breath warm the place where moments ago her palm had made contact.

It was too much for him.

He was so unaccustomed.

The first tear escaped.

Bitter, tang running heavy and fast down over his lips.

He couldn't contain the shudder that accompanied it.

Or the harsh gasp that brought on the overspill.

When was the last time he had cried?

He always kept that control. It was vital to this job.

Yet it was different this time.

This one was personal.

He scrubbed his hands over his eyes.

Fighting guilt and shame and a whole tangle of emotions he usually pretended he wasn't afflicted by.

Took a deep sighing breath, the exhale only slightly shaky.

But she said nothing.

She simply waited. Weaving her fingers tightly through his.

His anchor.

She did not pity.

She just offered what she could.

For she understood.

**o0o0o0o0o0o**

She had expected pain.

Anguish.

Anger.

She hadn't expected that.

She hadn't expected a breakdown.

Or the phone call from Doc Robbins.

It had been phrased tactfully, discretely, but the message had been clear.

Check on him.

It made her chest tighten with guilt.

He was always so quiet that it was hard to tell when something deeply affected him.

He kept it in like she did.

That was more worrying than anything.

That was when that desperate ache she knew all too well tore at your insides.

Cases with children had always bothered him.

They bothered all of them.

But this time it was different.

She had been so busy working her own case with Warrick, she had known he was working hard on a missing kid case, but since she had slipped from his house with buoyed step that morning their paths hadn't crossed.

Until she had visited Trace. She had been waiting on her own results, but her usual curiosity had drawn her to the items spread across the examination table.

Hodges had been working on Grissom's case. He had been trying to distinguish if any trace evidence had remained after the relentless onslaught of the rain,

The boys clothing lay out on the table before her, beside a picture of the body.

The picture had made her blink.

She had drawn it closer, feeling her stomach tighten in sorrow.

Curly hair, broken little glasses, satchel of books.

And bruises, and pain and hurt.

A baby Grissom.

She had taken a moment to remember how to breathe again.

Then she had moved out in search of him. The pull in her heart to seek him out too strong to resist. Knowing he had to be somewhere in this maze of windows.

Stepping into the corridor she had seen him in the distance, walking towards his office, head lowered, she had raised a smile in his direction only for him to look right through her and walk on.

She had hesitated. So many years of rejection and push and pull had left her wary.

Her self-preserving instinct didn't want anything to happen that would shatter the perfect moment of waking this morning in his arms.

He wouldn't mean to lash out at her, but she didn't know if she could risk her all too fragile heart.

But his weary gait, his creased forehead.

He was lost somewhere in that head of his.

And she understood why.

She had seen exactly the same in the boy.

How could she be so selfish?

How could she think of herself when he looked more dejected than she had ever seen him?

He needed her.

Biting her lips she hovered a few feet from the door to his office, her inner investigator recognising the rare but glaring signs of a Gil Grissom migraine on the horizon.

The blinds were drawn, the light was off, the door was closed.

A beeping at her hip had halted her thoughts about following.

Doc Robbins call.

Check on him.

So on light feet she had entered the dark room, closing the door with the utmost care.

She caught his sudden movement, his half blind grasp for the nearest book.

She wasn't fooled for a moment.

Her tender protective instincts didn't fail her. The blissful memory of that one simple moment last night when he had reached for her, right there in her mind. The way it had made her feel.

She drew courage from him. The bravery she felt she harnessed, it came so much easier than she thought.

She reached for him. Winding herself about him. Feeling his desperate strain, his heart pounding hard, the way he swayed in her arms as she tightened her hold. Nuzzling her face against his back.

She felt his heart break.

**o0o0o0o0o0o**

It was a long time before they moved.

Neither caring that they stood in his office, bare metres from the rest of the world.

Together they were a million miles away.

Eventually his fingers slowly withdrew from hers about his waist.

He stood a little taller, as if recharged simply by her touch.

"Did you take your pills?" she asked, her voice whisper soft.

His response was just as quiet as he turned, his voice gravel edged with the tears she knew he had shed, keeping his face dipped so she couldn't see the evidence in his red-rimmed eyes.

"I'll take you home."

He didn't protest. Didn't even consider it.

The journey was made in silence.

With his eyes closed tight behind dark sunglasses as about them the hot desert sun rose, streaking rays across the sky.

The cool lull of his home was another wave of comfort.

The pleasure of the familiar.

When he attempted to sink into the couch cushions she stopped him.

Shaking her head she slid an arm under his and around his back, tugging him upwards to his feet again, guiding him towards the bedroom.

"Anything to get me into bed again, hey Sidle?"

He tried to joke, but even the smile he gave her hurt.

But the quirk of her lips and the glimmer in her eyes was worth the effort his tease cost him.

He wavered by the bed, his motions slowed by the lulling sensations of the medication, the speed of his blinking had decreased.

Around him she was fluttering, laying out a t-shirt and sweats on his bed.

She turned, looking pointedly at him.

But he just looked back.

Little could dull the impressive mind of Gilbert Grissom, but a migraine and medication was a pretty catastrophic combination against his grey matter.

"Are you are waiting for me to undress you…?" she teased with a spreading grin.

He sighed softly, closing his eyes, but when he finally reached to undo his shirt he was hesitant, and she could have sworn that a faint blush coloured his cheeks.

His head raised slowly, and there was something different in his eyes.

Something more vulnerable and beseeching.

Oh God! She was staring!

"I'll… I'll be in the kitchen," she murmured, her eyes widening as she realised her faux pas. What was she expecting, that he'd strip before her!

Idiot!

Always an idiot!

As she made her way quickly into the other room her own cheeks were suddenly just as hot.

He was sick for goodness sake!

But it was desperately cute that he was embarrassed to change before her when she had slept with a t-shirt and boxer short wearing Grissom tightly banded around her just last night.

She idled her time, visiting her car for her gym bag from the trunk. Slipping into her own more comfortable clothing, drawing her hair back into a loose ponytail, removing the barely there traces of make up left after her long day.

He lay under the covers, with them drawn up over his head when she slipped into his bedroom, cautiously tiptoeing through the room she wasn't completely familiar with yet in all its artificially dark glory, whilst trying desperately to be quiet.

Carefully placing his pill bottle and a glass of clear cool water by his bedside in case he needed it in a few hours she only paused for a moment before she shook all the stupid nervous fears from her brain and slid carefully into the bed beside him.

He didn't stir.

She hitched slightly closer, tucking the covers in around herself.

Another pause.

She weighted the pros and cons.

Would he want to be touched when he was in pain?

Then went with her heart.

Everyone wanted comfort, whether they knew how to ask for it or not.

What was she even considering it for?

Lightly sliding her arm around him, she curled in close to his solid warmth, settling in, sighing before she closed her own eyes.

She was almost asleep when he finally stirred.

His hand rising to clutch at hers, cradling it preciously against his heartbeat.

"Thank you," he whispered, the reverence in his voice tugging at her heart.

She smiled against his back.

"Sleep," she soothed.

And with her there he did.


	3. Chapter 3

_**Disclaimer:**_ Dear CBS, if you hadn't made them so beautiful I would be borrowing someone else's characters instead wouldn't I, so therefore it's your own fault!

_**Author Notes:**_ This one was just a whim… pure fluff. I have to do something whilst we wait impatiently for the 15th of Jan!

If you were looking for a time frame for this I'd say early to mid season 6.

I would like to say a HUGE wow and Thank You to all the people who have left me such wonderful reviews for the first and second parts of this, and to all those who have it on their alerts and favourite story lists. I _love_ you guys!! Your encouragement means the world.

I also do not own the present Sara gives, but I _really_ want one, they are simply heaven! ;)

Please note that I have changed the rating on this story, knocking it up to a T (for now…) Blame the GSR!! ;)

**Holding Patterns.**

By Rianne.

_Chapter Three._

When she finally stirred awake he was already there before her.

That may have been what drew her to consciousness.

He was holding her hand, playing with her fingers.

Hmmmm… she was in bed with Grissom again…

Warm, sleepy and cuddling with Grissom.

Such a comfortable bed, good firm mattress, warm snugly soft covers.

How had she got here…

Ohhhhh.

Her stomach sank as she felt her pleasure level dip severely. Felt a frown crease her forehead.

Little boy with broken glasses.

Grissom in tears.

She'd never seen Grissom cry before, it had twisted her soul.

She had never felt so useless. Holding him as tightly as she could as he shuddered with grief.

She screwed up her already closed eyes, trying not to think about the heavy black weight of the day before that was creeping back to her.

She was glad that they were still here in the safe haven of his bed.

They needed simple quiet time like this to realign their minds.

It was suddenly the glaring piece that had been missing from the puzzle of her life all these years.

Comfort.

With eyes still closed she concentrated on the soothing way that he was tracing the lengths of her fingers, swooping the sensitive cuticles, stirring her by stroking her knuckles.

She let the sensations chase the dark edges of her thoughts away.

His big bear paw of a hand completely swallowed hers.

Warmer, rougher skinned, but he was surprisingly gentle.

Like he was touching something delicate. Like you might touch a flower, or a kitten, or _he_ would touch a vital case-breaking piece of evidence.

The last word that anyone would ever use about her, Sara Sidle, was delicate, it just wasn't a word that people thought of around her, but she liked it.

Just the chance that he saw her on equal weighting with evidence…

God, when had her life become so pathetic that being compared to something left behind by a killer was a compliment!

But she had to admit that she wouldn't have it any other way right now.

She liked the way that he had been treating her since they had carefully started dating. He somehow managed to make even a grumpy, prickly, tomboy like herself feel feminine and womanly and attractive and treasured and dare she even whisper it…sexy?

But this, these subtle caresses, it was more than just touching.

The feelings, the emotions, that his gentleness stirred, spoke volumes of the emotions she knew he was trying to convey.

His touch betrayed the depth of the feelings that neither of them were ready to express with what was destined to be an awkward and embarrassingly painful conversation.

Not just yet anyway.

She liked this tender exploration.

This time where they didn't need words to say what needed to be said.

Each touch set her nerve endings alight.

It coaxed her closer and closer to full consciousness and she was for once happy to be led.

Especially if it was into a reality where she was waking up with Gil Grissom in her arms.

He was moving again, turning over her hand in his to stroke her palm.

The pads of his fingers slipping patterns across the flesh, tracing the lines and valleys of her palm like a palm reader as her fingers wiggled ticklishly, reflexively.

Tracing her life line, her heart line, her head line, like he was searching for the answers to their future.

She bit her lower lip lightly to concentrate hard on not squirming.

She curled her toes instead.

Her thighs tightening and pressing together, her knees bumping.

Her body groaning silently.

Then her fingers were lifted.

She let her eyes drift open, the pale blue wall before her focusing into the cotton weave of Grissom's T-shirted back.

Her arm was still slung with careful affection over his waist, hand curled to lie against his chest.

She couldn't see what he was doing to her fingers, which made the experience all the more heightened.

Blinking slowly at the warm light that filled the room.

Her body and brain lazy and sleepy and contented.

Yet his touch was bringing her round and tempting her awake in more ways than she could describe.

Her stomach quivered tingling as she waited, alert for his next touch.

The restriction of her sight, beyond the wall of blue, sharpening her other senses.

She could smell him, hot, sleepy, musky and male.

She could hear him breathing, slowly, evenly, calmly.

Yet in complete contrast to all the quiet she could feel each stroke he bestowed to her skin like he was statically charged.

Pleasurable crackles sparked where they made connection.

Each next point of contact was suddenly the focal point of her world.

She tried her hardest to stay still and let him experiment, but her brain was humming happily to life as it dreamt up all the delicious possibilities for where his next caress might fall.

Her belly warmed at the intimate fantasies that rippled forth.

Then she didn't have to wait any longer.

He pressed a kiss to the swirling print of her index fingertip.

The warm soft of his lips, the heat of his breath, so sweet she almost groaned.

So he was feeling better then?!

Migraine meds and sleep working wonders.

The bristle of his beard against the inside of her finger induced shivers, which closed her eyes again as she instinctively increased the squeeze of her thighs.

It was either that or give into the heady urge she felt to slide one leg over his hip, wind herself about his body and squeeze him instead!

Were they sleepy enough for her to get away with that?

Oh it was tempting… she really wanted too...

Even if she was only brave enough to simply think it right now.

But no, she couldn't act on those impulses, not quite yet.

Soon though, a few more necessary barriers to surmount and she would be free to act as she only dared to dream.

Act without nerves, without spooking him.

But the way he was caressing right now was restrained and loving, touching just for touching's sake. Just for enjoyment. Not for starting anything.

But as he gently sucked on her finger her brain reeled from the stroke of his lips and her thoughts were immediately lost to the sensations.

His lips had moved on, brushing hot and open down her finger, nibbling.

His bristles torturing pleasure across her already tingling palm induced shivers and bad, bad, very bad thoughts.

Thoughts about the way that beard would feel against even more sensitive vulnerable flesh… her wrists… her stomach… her inner thighs…

Ooooooohhhhhhh God!

It was fast becoming too much.

If he didn't want to encourage her to jump him that was…!

Morning sex was her favourite, sleepy, tangled and slow.

Defences down. Vulnerable to intimate suggestion.

She was always so instinctively defensive and knowing that about herself didn't make it any easier to control.

But she wanted to learn to let him in. Wanted to feel that she could trust completely.

And there were already a good few cracks appearing in her battle-scarred armour.

The first few conscious moments of her day when she was relaxed, and open, when she was able to enjoy without pressure, when she was warm and comfortable and drowsy, they were the perfect moments for someone to slip easily into her arms and coax intimacy.

When that little voice which niggled her, which delighted in pointing out that she was certainly no topless dancer, that she hadn't been working out enough, that questioned what a man, any man, saw in her, wasn't awake enough to torment her.

Ohhh, just the idea of sharing a blissful morning encounter like that with Grissom…

Hell, _Any_ sex with Grissom!

No holds barred, kisses that stretched long and teasing, achingly sweet, arms around one another, curling, cuddling, close.

Just thoughts of it and her head was already spinning.

Her whole body arched as his lips pressed into her palm, fragmenting her thoughts for a much better reality.

His mouth open, his hot tongue sliding out to stroke across the salt of her skin.

Her shudder was hungry.

Then his lips pressed to her wrist and her head titled back as she fought the gasp.

That was one curiosity that had just been seriously satisfied.

One to tick off the list!

Feel of beard against wrist: groan inducing.

She heard the groan escape, felt her hips arch instinctively towards him.

Nuzzling her nose into his back she was surprised to feel him freeze.

So wrapped up with the warmth of his back and the feel of his heart beating that it took her a moment or two before she realised that he really was no longer moving, that there were no more kisses to her wrist.

He had stopped?

She waited a little longer, humming softly as she rubbed her nose back and forth against the cotton between his shoulder blades, trying to coax out more of those kisses.

But he remained still.

Was he shy?

Was he worried that she would be upset to know he had been touching without permission?

Had he been practicing his seduction techniques whilst he though she was asleep?

Did he think that she might laugh catching him being so silly and affectionate?

She pressed a small smile to his back.

She could practically hear the complicated cogs in his mind whirr.

Did he think he was busted, that his manly standing was at stake?

That one brought an actual smile. A sly one, but a smile none the less. Wide and broad.

Whatever the reason, his touch, oh it was certainly working on this girl.

Woman.

Whatever!

God! Would she ever understand the man who lay beside her?

Probably not, that was the sad truth of the matter. But at least now she had the chance to give fathoming him out a try!

Some part of that supposedly clever brain of hers must be able to find an answer someday, somehow!

Although his brain was so damn smart that by that time she finally figured a way through the defences he had built that he'd probably have found a way to evolve even further and forever protect his secrets!

But God damn it if she wasn't completely smitten with the wonderful, gentle, charming, utterly frustrating man in her arms.

Lifting her head, giving up the pretence of sleep for good, she propped herself up a little. Then she reached out with her free hand and slid her fingers tenderly into his curls, stroking and massaging, tumbling the silver coils.

"How are you feeling?"

Her voice was rumbly, hushed and low.

He was quiet for a long moment and then she felt the pressure against her fingertips increase.

He hummed in approval of her magic fingers, leaning back into her touch, and finally managed an equally gravely barely conscious, almost groan of "better."

Tilting his head back on his shoulders, encouraging her touch, his grip on the hand he held in his tightening.

After a few more moments of silence, broken only by the faint sound of breathing, she allowed her fingers to slow.

"What time is it?"

She yawned into her words, her body stretching out along his, pressing against his.

He groaned softly in protest of her halting fingers.

She could practically hear the hinges on his eyelids as they reluctantly cracked open.

But he still didn't answer her question.

The clock was on his side of the bed.

When he didn't answer she nudged him with her nose, breathing in the scent of his hair.

"Griss…"

He grunted.

"Griss," he still didn't answer.

Hitching closer she slid her nose into the curve of his neck, before seeking out his ear so she could let her lips brush heated across the sensitive outer shell.

"Griss!" she growled through her sulky laughter! "Don't you dare go back to sleep after waking me up!"

She felt his chuckle before she heard it, the deep smoky rumble shuddering through his back and ebbing into her chest.

And then in seconds she found herself flipped onto her back, the squeal, which managed to escape, tumbling into laughter as she saw a fully awake and aware Grissom clambering to capture her, looming and male, his hair wild and tumbled, his strong arms coming down on either side of her, trapping her, pinning her to the bed, delighted glint in his eyes.

Her heart rate leapt with surprise and anticipation.

Oh, someone was definitely feeling better!

That predatory gleam in his eyes was new and thrilling.

"Three," he growled teasingly. "It's three o'clock."

Then he pressed a quick light kiss to her lips, moving away before she had a chance to catch him.

"One."

An eyebrow raise.

Another quick sneaky kiss.

"Two."

And before he could dip for the third she had already hauled him down again, laughing wildly, hungry for a real kiss.

A real kiss. Mouths meeting hot and open, both groaning at the sensual sweetness of hot sliding questing tongues, morning breath be damned.

Her arms curled tightly around his back, pressing him warmly against her breasts, fingers searching blindly over the broad expanse, feeling their lovely combined weight sinking into the soft bed, their legs tangling.

His palm slid up to cup her cheek, fingers easing behind her head, dislodging the silky strands from the tenuous hold of her hairband, before they curled nice and tight into her hair to keep her mouth close to his, the other palm finding its way under her waist to feel her against him.

Oh yes, this was the life.

Their kisses were deep and slow, and lazy.

His teasing tongue as inquisitive as his mind as it stroked her lips, her palate, sucking her lower lip, greedily swallowing her responses.

Then in another quick breathless motion she found herself astride him, strong hands on her hips, gliding up her back, the heat of his heavy hands burning through her t-shirt.

She swayed there a moment, very still, mouth still open from her gasp of surprise, supporting her own weight on her hands and knees, thin sliver of air between them.

The feel of him beneath her so suddenly was unexpected.

She couldn't fight the nerves tensing her muscles, had to think hard about forcing her breathing to slow, willing herself to relax.

There was nothing to be afraid of.

This was Grissom.

This was just Grissom.

But it was new. Really new.

And her thighs were spread really wide, wider than she had imagined.

Up close he was so much bigger than her.

His hot hands were sliding lower, smoothing down her back, to put gentle pressure on her hipbones.

"Hi." He whispered, his eyes glittering, his smile cheeky.

She huffed softly at him, but his sweetness was working, she could feel her body really relaxing, sinking into his.

The long strokes of his palms in a warming rhythm against her back, soothing.

Her eyelids flickered as relaxing brought her weight to settle more intimately against him.

She could feel him hot and ready through the soft sweats, pressing against her, and she was ready too.

He must feel her.

Her lower belly was warm and beat in time with her heart.

She smiled down at him, all flushed cheeks, and lazy sensual eyes, her warm curves pressing a welcome weight.

Then nosing close she lowered her face until she was scant millimetres from his, her newly freed curls falling over them like a curtain. She rested her weight on her lower arms beside his head.

She was blinking slowly, her lips hovering gently over his, dipping close, brushing, teasing, breath tangling, and then pulling back, before finally allowing herself to get caught.

They kissed with eyes open, under the shade of her hair, gazing longingly at each other as if they were worried either might bolt at any second, the sheer intimacy trembly and nearly overwhelming as they continued lightly stroking lips over and over side-to-side.

The pull was sensual and strong, and eventually they sank hungrily, eyes lulling closed, surrendering into the heady temptation of one another's heat and desire.

Their bodies building friction, arching and rubbing together, acting upon centuries old instinctive rhythms. Both able to feel the straining heat and need in each other.

Tumbling over and under one another, tangling the sheets about their sweat pant clad limbs until she lay beneath him once more.

Satisfied with swollen lips and giving gasping breaths a time to calm they searched out other new territory, both rumbling with shivers at the heat of lips to the sensitive spots of necks and ears.

His tongue sliding out to stroke over the hammering of her pulse feeling her hips wiggle in response.

Her lips sought out that vulnerable line along the edge of his beard where it curved to his jaw line.

The first time her stomach rumbled she got away with it. It passed as a lower octave moan, both were lost anyway, swept up in heat of their passions, his nose and beard stroking down her throat.

The second time she knew she was busted when he lifted his head.

She tried to follow his lips with hers, pull him back but he was far to quick for her aroused brain and sleepy reflexes.

She pouted, "Where are you going?"

"Food," he announced with a grin.

"Not hungry," she moaned, her voice thick, managing to secure his lips again, until her stomach once again made itself known. Loudly.

"Liar," he teased.

She sulked until he pulled her from the tangle of his bed and guided her into his bathroom, hiding his pride at her faint stumbling on weakened legs, before nudging her in the direction of his nice big bathtub.

That made her smile again.

He swooped to grab her backpack with her extra clothes from by his front door, placing it just inside his bathroom.

She paused in the bathroom doorway to look at him, leaning her shoulder against the doorframe, sighing longingly.

Her hair was a rumpled, tousled mess, her t-shirt hugging her distracting, extremely interested curves, her cheeks rosy and pinked, she looked thoroughly kissed and utterly beautiful and so very, very tempting, but before he could give in and haul her close again, she brought him back to himself.

Lifting her palm, she reached out and caressed his cheek, her touch tender and so light.

His beard teasingly rough in contrast to the softer skin beneath it.

"Chalk?" he enquired the little lines around his eyes creasing.

With an 'I'm humouring you' smile she slipped away, shaking her head, whispering "I'm glad you're feeling better," as she slid the bathroom door closed obscuring his view of her.

But thoughts of her in there looked set to torture him for the entire time she was in his bathroom.

On the other side of the door she leant back against the wood for a moment to steady her limbs, she was trembling softly, goosebumps rising to decorate her exposed flesh.

He'd dragged her from the bed; the cooler air shocking the edge off the warmth of her desire and her aroused body missed the heat of his already.

Rubbing her arms she crossed to investigate the bath, trailing her fingers along the huge fluffy towels he stocked.

With a twist of her wrists she turned the hot water on full force to flood into the big tub. Adding a splash of something clear with a faintly clean smell into the rapids. Then she stripped slowly, taking her time as the sound of the water roared, leaving her clothes in an abandoned pile on the floor.

Her body welcomed the warmth of the water, closing her eyes with a pleasurable groan as she sank into the depths.

She let her head loll back against the rim of the tub, smile broad and luxurious.

But thoughts of him would not leave her alone.

And to make matters worse she was gloriously naked, in his bathtub, whilst he was just metres away on the other side of the door.

Being a damn gentleman!

Her fingers idly traced the bubbles on the surface as her head danced with thoughts of the heat of those heavy hands, the hungry suckle of his lips, the deep glittering desire in the depths of his eyes.

Desire for her.

Oooooohhhh God!

Taking a quick breath she ducked her entire head under the water, splashing the excess liquid everywhere in a rolling wave of bubbles!

Outside in his kitchen Grissom could not get out of his own head. He would not think of water, of hot bubbly water, of sliding droplets of hot water caressing down her sleek long, long legs, of steam curling her hair, of beads of moisture gliding down her slippery skin, of the way she was kissing him back just a few minutes ago.

Damn it! He was being a gentleman for what reason again…?

He took a few minutes just to stand, his grip on the kitchen counter tightening till his knuckles whitened as he fought to calm his body.

When that wasn't working he began to pace. Up and down. Up and down.

He knew both of them hadn't really wanted to leave that bed.

It was stupid. But he wanted to do this right.

He wanted to take her out somewhere first, buy her flowers, and whisper sweetly in her ear all night about what he planned to do to her when he got her all to himself.

God that sounded stupid.

When he heard himself think like that he sounded his advanced years. Sounded like he had watched far too many black and white movies.

It wasn't like he didn't have her all to himself right now either.

But she was special to him.

He wanted the build up.

He wanted put effort into seducing her.

She deserved more than just him in sweats with hair stuck out all over before he'd had chance to brush his teeth.

Not that she had minded before. Or complained if she had.

He did his best to keep his brain distracted, he made toast and coffee and bowls of fruit, putting the bacon slices in his fridge right to the back in case she ventured in there for milk, despite his own mouth watering at the sight of them.

And speaking of mouth wateringly good…

This morning, this morning had been really good.

He hadn't woken up with a smile like that for a long time.

Certainly not the morning after a migraine.

He felt clearer, lighter, free.

And when was the last time he had slept for six hours straight?

Sara.

She'd helped drive the horrors of the day before into the deep compartmentalised fathoms of his brain.

Helped prepare him to go on and help the others who needed him.

She'd given him time, and patience and her arms.

She'd not forced him to talk, she'd not even forced him to listen.

She'd just been there.

For him.

He was not worthy of this graceful creature.

It put him in a whole new place.

Just knowing that she wouldn't let him get away with being nervous when it came to her. Just like she hadn't that morning.

Just knowing that he could be open with her and not fear ridicule.

To know he could reach out and touch her.

He had woken with her arm still slung comfortably around his middle, her elbow crooked so that he could hold her palm over his heart.

The first few strokes up and down her fingers were simply exploratory, sleepy, just enjoying having her affection, just having her there.

But soon that hadn't been enough.

He had seen those clever fingers at work, examining evidence, pointing violently at offenders, comforting the victims, he'd even held them once, no twice, but neither time had been under good circumstances.

But here, here was a moment of privacy where he could find out what it felt like to caress her skin, to no longer imagine what her skin felt like against his skin, against his lips.

He had started off gently, but the more he touched the more he wanted too. He tried to keep it light, testing out the boundaries between them, he still wasn't completely sure what was allowed and what wasn't.

But he really hadn't wanted to stop.

He had frozen in surprise as he had heard her stir awake in his arms, but it hadn't been her movement that caught his attention so sharply, after all she had been wiggling around sleepily behind him for a little while before that moment.

No, it had been her growing reaction to his touch that had startled him.

Really startled him.

Aroused him fully without her even knowing it.

It had been hearing the groan she made as he pressed his lips to her wrist.

He couldn't believe that he had caused her to make that sound.

A sound so erotic, so unguarded, that it had instantly paled all fantasies he had ever held dear about her.

She was real.

She was really with him.

She was really there with her arms about him.

His bed had even smelt of her. Like coconuts. Fast becoming his favourite smell.

But before he had been able to sort out his thoughts her fingers had been stroking through his hair and her loving touch had shaken all the thoughts from his head.

It was so much easier than he had ever anticipated.

It was so easy to let her in.

To let her see the loving, thoughtful, attentive man who liked to touch, tease and laugh.

The man he was afraid to show.

He couldn't for the life of him remember why.

Was this quiet, calm affection between them what he had been so afraid of?

It was many things, comfortable, intimate, slightly awkward, pretty damn frustrating, but not in the least bit frightening.

Although between sleeping and working there had so far not been much time for their stubborn, and independent natures to collide. Yet.

But still on new uncharted ground he had tried to behave. Trying to keep to his self-made promise to be patient, to enjoy taking his time to woo her. Did people even say that any more… no probably not? But it was fast becoming a real struggle to stay still, to keep his hands to himself as her nails scratching his scalp arched his spine, her fingers were working such magic in his hair and his bodies reaction to her was straining desperately to get his attention.

He had then been forced to curl his toes in his grand effort to remain still as she began whispering his name into his ear with all the heat of her breath and the tingling caresses of her lips.

He had behaved so valiantly until he just couldn't stand it any more.

And then in a move so quick he had even stunned himself she had been beneath him gasping and smiling.

A smile twitched his lips as he remembered the look on her face when he had first flipped her over onto her back.

Naughty, surprised, cheeky, delighted with him.

Happy.

Sara.

He wandered over and leaned his shoulder against the bathroom doorframe. Looking hard at the closed door. Really hard. Really, really, hard.

It was a shame he hadn't asked for x-ray vision last Christmas, that or nerves of steel.

**o0o0o0o0o0o**

Once they parted company in the Lab car park later that afternoon, she flit her eyes to his as she walked away and she smiled.

And that smile got him through the boredom of the first few hours of his shift as he barely caught sight of her again all evening.

She and Warrick were finishing up their current case.

He saw her once from afar, arguing out something, her cheeks flushed, her eyes flashing, her chin stubbornly held, her shoulders squared.

Her hair had curled, from drying naturally after her time in his bathtub.

Her lips were still pinker, shining with some kind of moisture stick she had smeared on in the car on the way to the Lab.

It made them fuller than usual, unless he was just fixated, which may have been the case.

He could still taste those lips.

"Hey Earth to Gris!"

Nick was pressing a palm to his shoulder, jerking him back to the hallway, whipping his head round and out of the warm memories and forcing him right on back to the endless mountains of paperwork that awaited him.

She managed to stop by during her late lunch break, and his first thought was of how much he had missed her.

She didn't stay long, she brought him coffee and in her other hand was clasped a small cloth bag, she twisted the fabric nervously.

He smiled at her over the mountain range of papers on his desk as he slipped off his glasses, glad to see that she was still standing there when his eyes re-focused.

"Brought you some coffee," she announced redundantly, her smile shy.

"Thank you, Sara."

He took it from her, feeling the awkward silence getting louder.

Why was it always so much more awkward between them when they were trying to be personal in the Lab!

"Brought you this too," she admitted quickly, thrusting the cloth bag in his direction, "thought it might help."

A present?

Then she was gone, her smile soft as she retreated quickly with a slight shrug, leaving him holding the small bag she had left behind dangling from cautious fingers.

He looked at it curiously.

"Grissom, have you seen the notes for the Wilkinson case?" Catherine voice was fast approaching, already speaking before she had made her way fully into the room.

With a deft slight of hand he managed to slide Sara's present into the drawer and with the other hand locate the file Catherine wanted from the grand selection before him.

And there his present waited for another two hours before his curiosity about it drove him from his paperwork to drag it from the drawer to examine that instead.

Pulling the drawstrings open he tipped the contents onto the desk before him.

Huh?

It was made of copper.

Had a handle and eight little spindles or prongs, divided into two sets of four.

A fork?

She had given him a big fork?

So he could dig through his paperwork?!

He huffed softly, confused.

Well let's start with what it isn't…

It wasn't an egg whisk, or a comb, or modern art… he didn't think.

It wasn't a backscratcher, and it didn't look like any sex toy he'd ever seen and he'd seen a lot.

In his line of work of course!

But how was this supposed to help him in any way?

Damn it sometimes he hated puzzles!

**o0o0o0o0o0o**

After she had fumbled over giving him the gift Sara didn't see Grissom again until right before the end of shift.

She and Warrick had stopped by his darkened office to give in their case reports.

She found, much to her surprise that she was smiling with some small degree of satisfaction, pleased with yet another case solved.

She'd had a really good day.

Night.

Whatever!

When Warrick got up to leave she lingered. Pretending to be casual. Failing terribly of course, but Warrick and the others were so used to the complicated push and pull relationship between her and Grissom, that he barely shook his head as he slunk away at her usual 'nervous around Grissom' weirdness, closing the office door with a loud click. He was probably very glad to be able to get out of there and leave her and Grissom alone.

Alone.

The room seemed to get smaller around her and all his collections loomed down at her from the shelves and frames which lined the walls, with their thousands of bug eyes peering, wondering what on earth she was waiting for as she stood there mute and just looked at him.

She had something she wanted to say, but finding the words…

Sure there were more appropriate places for telling him, but she knew that if she didn't get the words out now she'd panic and maybe never say it.

And she wasn't sure how much longer she could wait!

There had been nothing in her head but this all night. Her poor brain had been working overtime just to keep up with the simple workings of the case she and Warrick were finalizing.

She was supposed to be working!

But tell that to her brain, any chance she gave it, it was right back curled up in bed with a deliciously scruffy haired Grissom, sliding her fingers under his t-shirt to the warmth of his skin, sliding her mouth down is neck to the spot which made him squirm.

Yeah… she knew things like that about him now.

She wanted to know more.

No, she needed to know more.

It was time.

But here in his office, the idea that she would have to open her mouth and actually express those thoughts to him with all those magic combinations of letters called words was tightening her fingers into fists.

She just knew that she had to somehow give him a gentle shove in the right direction.

She just had this feeling that he was waiting for a sign from her. For permission.

But it was so hard to ask. So hard to tell him what she wanted.

It was stupid considering the way that had been together that afternoon.

At least halfway there to what they both wanted, maybe a little more.

Lost in the safety of their arms and desires.

But moving further, it was such a personal decision.

He had wanted to wait, that had been very clear that afternoon when they had been on the brink, she could certainly be assured that it wasn't a matter of lack of physical interest or arousal, but he had put them off, he wanted to be a gentleman and she understood all of that.

But it was driving her crazy!

He was definitely getting closer though, and she just wanted to give him that final push.

But why did her capacity to speak about anything personal vanish the moment she looked him in the eye?

Although silence was debatably better than the old over-talking trick she used to pull, she had finally managed to break that bad habit, thank goodness.

But damn it she was still waiting…

Her pulse was picking up. Its rhythm beating at her throat making it hard to swallow.

She opened her mouth to speak.

Finally forcing through the fear.

But her words got lost in his.

"Griss I…"

"I wanted to thank you."

There was a moment of silence where they both just blinked at one another and then they were able to laugh, embarrassed at their terrible awkwardness, averting their eyes.

"I'm sorry," he acceded, holding out his hand to her with a smile to indicate that she should speak first.

But the fearful ball inside her was unravelling its claws into her fast and she urged him to speak before her.

He nodded his head, one side of his mouth turning up before he carried on.

"I just wanted to thank you for your gift," his expression was suddenly turned curiously awkward, he wouldn't meet her gaze anymore, "very useful, so, thank you."

His voice drifted off.

She had to fight to fashion the grin she felt bloom back into a controlled line as she suddenly understood.

He had no idea what she had given him! Oh this was too funny!

Too easy.

She sometimes forgot just how naïve he could be, after all he was so smart in so many ways.

"Useful ha, I'm glad." Her smile was sly. "Want to give me a demonstration?"

The flicker of fear in his eyes was brief, she could see him actually squirm, and then she felt bad for causing him any amount of pain, shame on her, even if he covered it quickly mumbling some excuse that she didn't even bother to listen to!

Moving around his desk she paused beside his chair looking down at him and simply held her palm out.

On to him. Ever so busted.

Pursing his lips, he sighed, hanging his head in uneducated shame, before removing the present from its hiding place in his desk drawer and carefully placing it in her waiting hands.

"Do I want to know what you thought this was for?" She asked with a softer smile as she casually perched herself on the edge of his desk, she carefully twisted the handle, arranging the eight prongs so that the contraption now looked more like one of Grissom's spiders than a fork.

Off his look she laughed! "Okay, so I guess not!"

His ears had turned pink.

"Close your eyes," she whispered, voice suddenly soothing.

She hitched closer, into his space, and when he tilted his face to look up at her she found in his expression the mirror of her own affections. Those matching curious, teasing smiles changing his office into a different place, both feeling that warm spell falling like a fog about them, creating for them a private, intimate bubble which seemed to fade their surroundings into the distance until only they existed.

He eyed her a moment longer, his eyes closing to a squint, before he took a breath and letting it out slowly he closed them fully for her.

She took a moment to enjoy just looking at him.

Smiling shyly as across her current image of him appeared the vision of him looming over her, grinning wildly, enclosing press of his body to hers, the overwhelming, complicated, wonderful feelings which had filled her then filling her again at the memory of it.

Feelings of heat, affection, desire, safety and love.

She took a breath, her mind and body both so much lighter.

Then handle grasped loosely in her fist she slowly lowered the prongs of the spider contraption to his head, tips of them disappearing into his curls as they gently sought out the pressure points on his scalp, twisting her hand this way and that, lowering and lifting, watching his face for the inevitable reaction.

Her grin broke as he groaned way too loudly for the office, his eyes opening to hers were filled with surprise and pleasure, his pupils dilating wildly in the dark room.

"For your headaches," she smiled kindly, watching his eyes roll as she hit a particularly good spot sending what looked like really good shivers down his spine, his lower back curling as the sensations rumbled all the way to his toes.

"Good ha?"

His jerky laugh was confirmation of that!

God she loved this man.

She loved him.

She could do this.

"Griss?"

Her voice sounded small and vulnerable.

He cracked an eye to look at her.

She took another breath, leaning closer to him so she could whisper.

Hoping to give her words the kind of importance that they deserved.

"I'm ready."

She was suddenly aware of her heart beating painfully fast.

She watched him blink at her a few times, both eyes open now as he searched hers for understanding.

She smiled nervously, willing him to get it.

Please get it. Please.

Don't make me explain.

She lowered her hand from his head bringing the copper spider with her.

The world around them was deathly quiet as she waited.

Then he moved, pushing back his chair to stand.

Bringing himself to his full height, he reached out to guide her down from his desk, searching her rising eyes.

Her heartbeat picked up at that look, the intensity in the way he studied her.

She was suddenly too afraid to say anything else, even to brush away her words with a forced laugh.

She was very aware of her chest rising and falling all of a sudden.

It seemed to take him forever, but she saw the exact moment that he got it.

When he got what she was asking.

What she was trying to tell him.

Then he smiled, really smiled.

"Then… lets go." He said very carefully, with a nod, trying to make sure his own voice didn't reveal his nervousness.

But she knew it anyway and it helped.

The look on his face told her all, his shy smile was as sweet and terrified as hers.

Terrified in the good way.

She felt like her whole body sagged in relief, but somehow she was still standing, maybe from the building anticipation that waved to fill the gap.

He was crossing the room to the door, regaining his balance faster than her, sliding his coat off the stand, eager to be behind more private closed doors with her.

Turning back when he realised she wasn't beside him, he found she was still there, wavering where he had left her in place by the desk, just gazing at him dreamily, happy expression beaming.

"Are you coming?" He asked with a shy smile.

She gave a little jump, then reached out to lay the copper spider head massager on the desk.

"Oh and Sara?"

She turned to him. Humming distractedly in response.

He pointed at the contraption in her hand.

"You might want to bring that."


	4. Chapter 4

**Disclaimer: **_Dear CBS, if you hadn't made them so beautiful I would be borrowing someone else's characters instead wouldn't I, so therefore it's your own fault!_

**Author Notes: **_Hello! Hello!! I'm back!! Blame my muse for distracting me into writing three other stories, '__**When you find yourself in a far away land**__' (Happy Geek Endings ROCK!) and '__**The only way out is through**__' (working out my For Warrick sadness - again!) and also a big thank you goes out to those wonderful writers over at Geekfiction, who tempted me into writing '__**Honey Bee**__' for their Valentines Smutathon!!_

_All of which you can find on here through my profile page!_

_So technically I've been a writing demon!! But I'm finally back to this, God I love writing this story!!!_

_Thank you all for your patience!! Hopefully it's worth the wait!_

**Holding Patterns**

By Rianne.

_Chapter Four._

Sara and Grissom slipped out of his office, discretely together, glad that the Lab was in a mid-shift lull which allowed them to glide out through the corridors with ease and without coming into contact with other Crime Lab employees.

It was perfect.

Neither wanted anything to pull them from their current residence inside the little intimate bubble where only they existed.

Taking a left into the locker room they found it too was quiet, shaded and empty.

Standing a few feet apart, they both stepped up to their respective lockers and with flicks of their wrists the padlocks were open and the doors too and they began lifting things out, placing things in.

But neither paid much attention, their motions driven by autopilot and played out along familiar routines whilst their brains were spinning, their thoughts remaining deliciously entangled in sensual and sweet fantasies of what was to come.

Both unable to believe that they were finally at this point.

Finally!

Indulging in the images flickering pleasurably across their minds eye, stirring the body and the brain and drawing both closer without taking a physical step.

Tempting them into surreptitiously glancing longing and heated at one another.

Look, look away, look, get caught, and look away.

Unable to stop the corners of their mouths from curving upwards in coy bliss.

The subtle unspoken connection reflecting back and forth between them not needing words to be intensely potent.

She'd done it! She'd told him and he hadn't panicked. He hadn't fled. He hadn't turned her down with careful precision.

And considering the nerves currently ratting around inside her, he was damn lucky that she hadn't done both of those things either!

But they were both acting so calmly!

Or at least she seemed wonderfully calm and secure about all this whilst he hoped he was desperately pulling off something in that area whilst waiting, counting silently in his head he tried to calm his racing thoughts.

She was ready.

Ooohh God she was ready!

And yet she looked so normal. She'd just said words they had both waited years to hear and yet outwardly, apart from the gentle upward quirk of her lips she looked just the same.

Was she in just as much turmoil inside?

He watched as she lifted her arm to remove her ID badge from its grasp on her jean clad hip. Her motions graceful and sleek and tempting.

Watching the way her hair rippled as her head dipped to watch the progress of her fingers, the soft locks shading her face momentarily before her head rose again and tilted back as she reached up to place the badge safely in her locker, revealing her profile to him again and he was struck by the glowing curve of her cheek and the beauty of her heavy dark eyelashes.

God, she was simply unhooking a badge and he was hypnotized by her.

Somebody help him!

He leant forward into the cave of his locker where he was veiled from her sight and pressed his forehead against the cool steel of the shelf. The lovely chill sinking into his skin, but even the brain freeze wasn't helping.

Wasn't calming the storm of excitement, which was bubbling up inside him.

They were really going to do this.

He took several slow calming breaths.

She was ready.

They were ready.

Then harnessing the wave of bravery and desire his thoughts elicited he was straightening his back, rubbing a hand through his curls, letting the smile he felt brewing break.

They were ready.

But he had plans, a few things he had in mind, and he'd need a little time to put those plans in motion.

He needed to make a few stops on the way home, his mind was quickly scribbling out a mental list.

How to tell her that he needed at least an hour to prepare, how to do it without spooking her…

Or making her worry that he was stalling, or fleeing.

The past was certainly proof positive that his pattern with her tended to be reel in, flirt, tease, then freak out when she curled affectionately close and actually offered what he wanted on a plate.

This time was different.

This time the plate was to be shared.

A very mutual devouring.

And one that deserved time and thought to be put into it.

She picked up her bag, carefully flattening and then sliding the head massager into the side pocket.

She lifted out her sunglasses, preparing to face the harsh Las Vegas late morning sunlight. Using the glasses to push her hair back, she left them resting on top of her head.

She could still feel his eyes on her.

Flickering intimately over her flesh like butterfly wings.

Warming her skin.

The air between them was practically glowing, from the heat of their thoughts and the yearning in their bodies.

God… if they were like this in such an innocent situation…

She reached for her jacket to distract herself from the sweet heated wave of longing that spiralled down through her belly.

She shouldered her light jacket, unaware of the sudden chivalrous longing to help her into it, which swept him and made his fingers twitch to reach out.

But he couldn't.

Not here.

Then all their tasks were done and they both found themselves closing their lockers with a deep unanimously drawn breath and a two sure metallic clinks.

Both outwardly appearing terrifyingly calm.

And yet both were thrilled by the tension brewing tempestuously under the surface.

Another tinglingly good secret only they shared.

Turning to one another they hovered.

Both suddenly feeling light-headed and breathless.

He broke the silence not with words, for they didn't seem to be able to form those carefully enough right now, but with a slight lift of his eyebrows which encouraged her to fall into step with him as they left the locker room moving out into the neon glow of the glass hallways.

They weren't touching.

Merely gliding instinctively on two individual paths. Her longer strides and his scuttling sway.

Neither needing to glance at the other again for the moment, safe in the knowledge that they were destined to intertwine.

That their paths, and limbs and hearts and souls were destined to collide in the very near future.

The culmination of something that had been on the very edges of their horizon from the very first moment their lives had crossed paths.

They had certainly come a long way.

A long winding way.

Right now both of them would have been proud to admit that all the heartache had been worth it.

Sure it would have been nice to have found themselves at this point in their relationship earlier.

The idea that they had missed out on having 'this' together for so long was the only slight tinge of regret they felt.

Now was just the perfect time.

Now that they had worked out all their worries and fears and battled the demons that had haunted them and kept them from letting each other in for so long.

They had learnt how to let them go, to let their real feelings shine through.

And had figured out how to ease into one another's lives.

It was never going to be a seamless melding, but even in these first unsteady days the pleasure already far outweighed the adjustment required.

Stepping out into the light, she slid her sunglasses into place as they headed in the direction of her car.

He trailed her, his mind still deciding how to break it to her that he could do with an hour or two to go shopping…

He could tell the truth of course…

Yeah! I'm sure she'd love to hear that he was delaying being with her in order to head to the local store for essentials, especially if only a few of the items on his mental list could actually be considered essential.

But he didn't want to lie to her.

That was no way to go either.

Reaching the car he watched her unlock the door, the lights flashing.

She opened the back door first to sling her bag in, not even bothering to look where it landed.

She was far too busy lifting her palm to smother a yawn that had snuck through her defences.

Busted.

The weight of their long shift crashing over her all at once.

And the perfect excuse.

The perfect way for him to get some time to prepare and to get her the rest she clearly needed.

He stepped closer to her, moving in so that his chest was millimetres from her shoulder, much closer than he would normally have dared at work, safe in the knowledge that they were shaded by the tree branches which over hung this end of the parking lot.

He was close enough that her face in profile was a gentle blur.

"Sara," he whispered, the word warmed with his concern.

She took a deep breath in, and behind the shade of her sunglasses he saw her eyelashes flutter.

He liked that. That he affected her so. That he felt that he was allowed now to stand so close to her that he could see down the side of her glasses to the expressions shaded behind the dark lenses.

"You're tired."

She didn't say anything, but he saw her gaze flit to him, and he knew she was immediately worried, that she sensed she might not like the next words out of his mouth.

"Go home and rest."

She reacted just as he knew she would.

Her whole body tightened. She straightened, rising to her full height, defensive, ready to bolt, ready to fight back, ready to challenge.

She slid her sunglasses down her nose and off in one sharp swipe.

Her arms came between them, crossing across her breasts protectively.

Once prepared enough to guard her heart she turned.

Opened her mouth to protest before she wavered to a stop.

Her mind spun and she found herself taking another deep breath, her body reacting in a rush she was unprepared for, as she realised that they were close enough to almost brush noses.

Close enough to kiss, right there in the parking lot, with work mere feet away.

Her gaze was hypnotised by his lips as she saw him form his next words.

"We've all the time in the world," he soothed.

She dipped her head, wanted to hide her disappointment and the wave of fear she knew would be rippling through her eyes.

She couldn't let him see disappointment, but she couldn't help the sag of her shoulders.

Oh God, he was sending her home, he was changing his mind wasn't he.

Please don't be fleeing.

Please don't let him be changing his mind.

She wanted to look at him. To look in his eyes, frantically searching for signs of his intentions. Desperate to confirm that in the last few moments he hadn't had a change of heart, or allowed the nerves clearly jangling inside both of them to get the better of their newly discovered bravery.

Damn her stupid body for being tired.

Damn her stupid job for tiring her out!

"I'll pick you up later," he reassured. "And we've tomorrow off." He added with a

shy but growing grin.

Shaking her head sadly she managed to find her voice, whispering, "I haven't."

"I think you'll find if you check with your boss that you do have tomorrow free."

Her forehead creased as she lifted her head; his words coaxing her to look at him, and look pointedly at him at that, before she found herself breaking into a small curious smile at the excitement clearly shimmering in his suddenly boyish blue gaze.

"Don't look at me like that," he challenged. "Greg just about got on his knees and begged me for a swap, something about some very attractive blonde someone…" he confessed with a gleeful grin, leaning even closer to whisper, "So, surprise!"

She smiled then, the corners of her eyes creasing up, she was still wary, but starting to relax.

She wanted to trust him.

They hovered there still smiling.

Until her face distorted into yet another yawn.

Her hand rising rapidly to smother it as her cheeks flushed pink as her attempt to hide the extremely obvious clearly failed.

She really pouted then, letting her hand fall between them again, sulking at his theory being proved irrefutably correct.

"Go on," he encouraged. "Go home and sleep."

Still lost in their little bubble he didn't think twice before he reached out and slid the tips of his fingers down the curve of her cheek.

Her eyelashes fluttered.

His thumb tenderly caressed over her pouting lips.

The stroke soothing them into a warm smile once again.

She pressed a soft, secret and sweet kiss to his stroking thumb before his touch slid away.

Her smile continuing to spread, as she watched his back move away from her, enchanted by his sentimental actions.

By his caring.

And then he was gone, away to his own car; still parked a few spaces down and completely out of sight.

Still smiling to herself she finally opened the car door and slid into the drivers seat.

A few more moments passed in warm dazed silence.

Then she was just reaching to belt herself in when a ringing cut through her tantalising thoughts, jump starting her brain and damn near causing her to smack her head on the roof!

The digital display was of course flashing 'Grissom' when she managed to wiggle the vibrating phone out of her pocket, her hands scrambling.

She held it up a moment, watching the screen flash out a beat, the little dancing phone receiver by his name bobbing to the tune, taunting her to give in to curiosity and answer it.

She frowned at the screen.

She gave in.

"Did you fall asleep, Sara?"

His voice was rich and deep in her ear.

Damn nearest to intimate she'd ever heard from him and the tone made her shiver.

She straightened her back to avoid squirming.

"No," she laughed.

"Good, now get yourself home safely and get some rest, I have plans for you later!"

She laughed again, but the sound was lower.

Oh God what did she sound like!

"I'll be there to pick you up at seven." He confirmed.

The line went quiet for a moment.

She was just about to hang up when she caught his final whisper.

"Sleep well. I'll miss you."

o0o0o0o0o0o

The bell above the door jingled as Grissom stepped into the lush and fragrant inside of the store.

The smell hit him first, sweet and earthy, the pungent scent of growing and life.

Then the colours overwhelmed him, every spectrum of the rainbow was represented here, and even some he knew weren't even found in nature, all decoratively laid out in a sprawl before him.

Hundreds of different choices.

Hundreds.

He turned in a slow circle.

The flowers were arranged by colour, white, yellow, pink, red, purple, blue, orange.

And green. Very green.

His fingers had instinctively found their way into the pockets of his trousers as he pondered.

Too many choices.

The lily's were elegant and beautiful, the roses romantic, there were irises in deep indigo…

"May I help you, Sir?"

Then his eyes fell on the perfect gift for Sara.

"Yes," answered, feeling quite pleased with himself. "I'll take this one, please."

"Excellent choice," the florist replied, "a gift?"

Grissom nodded.

And then immediately regretted it.

The florist spent the next ten minutes fussing with bows and cellophane, arms flailing, scissors wielding, like Las Vegas's first Octopus Man.

Whilst Grissom stood and stared, and stared, and the eventually just openly glared.

"There you are Sir," the florist finally slowed enough to speak as he gestured to his creation, obviously expecting congratulations.

Extremely misguided.

Disappointed when Grissom only handed the man his credit card, he pointed vaguely in the direction of a little plastic stand saying with a sigh, "There are cards over there for your sentiments."

Moving over to the small table Grissom perused the selection of little cards, settling on a nice plain one.

The words were easy.

His penmanship flowed his thoughts across the small rectangle.

Before he carefully sealed it into the small matching envelope with a private smile.

o0o0o0o0o0o

She had been so tired.

And yet there she lay.

Listening to the echo of her own breathing waving out into her lonely, empty apartment.

It was the first time she had attempted to sleep alone in three days.

Her own bed, once the comforting highlight at the end of her shift, felt strange, unfamiliar and empty.

For years she had been the poster-woman for insomnia.

But even then she had still slid between the cavernous sheets for the comforting enclosure there, to think, to read, to relax and rest.

Just what she needed right now.

But sleep still eluded.

She really would just have to accept that the last three nights of warm, desperately needed sleep had been a fluke.

But she didn't want too.

She wasn't ready to give up hope just yet.

She was also not quite ready to admit some vulnerable truths.

She was not that attached to Grissom already!

But the evidence…

Who did she think she was kidding!

She had been attached to Gilbert Grissom from the first moment that her skin had touched his, they had shaken hands, introducing and unwittingly entwining themselves into the intriguing patterns of their lonely and yearning lives.

She turned over, pressing her hot, frustrated cheek against a cooler portion of her pillow.

For a moment she was soothed.

Yet it was only for a moment.

She was fast becoming more and more worried that she was far too overtired to sleep.

And way too wired.

She curled up tighter around herself.

But even then the cocoon of covers didn't provide any defence against her overactive brain.

Couldn't prevent the invasion of some of the thoughts that danced temptingly on the edge of her consciousness.

She shifted her position again, pointedly trying to escape them.

Purposely calming her thoughts, she refused to let herself even consider what might be in her immediate future.

What might happen when Grissom came to pick her up.

She couldn't.

What if the reality didn't live up to her daydreams?

Especially as her life had certainly not given her many examples to prove that theory wrong…

She didn't think she could bear that disappointment.

That decided she made an effort to think of other things.

To appreciate the soft feel of her sheets against her skin, stretching her legs out like a cat enticing a stroke.

Wriggling her toes.

After a few more twists and sighs she eventually managed to doze in and out for a while as she found herself falling back on a previous relaxing technique she had long over used and hoped not to need anymore.

She fantasised.

She twisted and turned her sheets into a tangled cocoon.

She sighed.

She set the scene.

Drawing happily from events of the morning and the last few days.

Now that she had the added spice to her imaginings of knowing what those hands of his felt like on her skin.

Knew the taste of his lips.

The way she felt in his arms.

Bath. A bath would have been wonderful right now.

She smiled at the memory of lounging lazily in his.

Her small apartment didn't have a bath.

Hmmm… a bath with Grissom.

She was reclining, surrounded by bubbles.

Hey it was her fantasy!

Bubbles, which strategically covered.

He was leaning in the doorway.

Smiling.

Watching.

Intent burning in his eyes.

Then crossing the room to the bath, his shirt gliding to the floor.

Her eyes lulled closed again as she allowed that thought to distract her, she soothed herself to relax, wriggling some to find the perfect place to settle, arranging the covers over herself more comfortably.

Imagining leaning back against the warm cradle of his broad bare chest.

His knees either side of hers, his arms and hands gliding gently but eagerly over her.

She would be able to feel what made him male, even more intimately than she had earlier today.

Skin to skin.

The fit of their bodies, and the contrast of them making her feel very female.

Intimate and comfortable in his arms.

Her hair damp around the edges, would be curling with the heat, as he brushed it away from her throat, dragging his lips over her sensitive flesh. His mouth would be hotter than the water lapping gently over them.

His lips would slide along the slope of her shoulder, his fingers gliding up her sides, making her laugh. Making her squirm happily against him.

Stirring the water and the heat and the desire.

And then…

And…

o0o0o0o0o0o

He hovered.

His panic face well and truly in place.

Oh god!

This was worse than the florist.

Way worse than the florist.

Before him row after row of coloured boxes stared back at him just as blankly.

The rest of his shopping had been over and done with in a matter of minutes.

He had selected a good red wine he had enjoyed before and knew would be perfect to share.

He had picked up vegetables, pasta, salad, fresh crusty bread, just a few items he could throw together just in case she was hungry.

He had also bought pancake ingredients, syrup, chocolate sauce, breakfast juice.

He had even spent a few minutes standing before the women's toiletries section.

Had picked up a spare toothbrush, a stick of the deodorant he had seen in her locker, and had resisted the urge to open and sniff the selection of body and shower gel that was on offer, finally just picking the nearest one.

He knew Sara was the most organised woman he had ever known, she was most likely going to bring such a collection of her own with her, but he wanted her to feel welcome. To feel comfortable in his home.

Especially when he was very keen on her staying there a lot more often and she seemed happy about it too, especially if the last few days had been anything to go by.

So those items, and a few other things currently weighted his basket.

Yet it was the choice that still remained before him which was becoming his biggest burden.

Footsteps behind him had him reaching frantically for the nearest pack.

The ones with the most uncomplicated description he had seen on the shelf before him.

He found himself watching in slow motion as his fingers grasped the packet, and in the process managed to knock several more to the floor in a shower of cardboard boxes.

He scrambled after them.

The footsteps halted.

Then the next minute a small, clearly old, feminine hand was passing him the furthest box.

Somehow he managed to grunt out a barely discernable, "Thank you."

He didn't look up as he fumbled to return the packets to their place on the shelf.

He couldn't look up.

Oh God, what if that hand belonged to the Nun he had passed on the last aisle.

Oh God, he would die.

He couldn't look up.

He couldn't confirm it.

He couldn't have been more humiliated.

His face was flaming.

Oh God, how old was he and here he was panicking about buying birth control like a horny and uncoordinated teenager!

The things men did!

His contraband safely in his basket he fled to the checkout.

Never so glad to hand over his cash and dash to safely stow the brown paper sacks into the back of his car.

o0o0o0o0o0o

She woke from a dream she could only barely remember with butterflies tingling in her stomach.

It was half five in the early evening.

Grissom would be there in an hour and a half.

Sliding on a big t-shirt she shuffled into her kitchen to try and quiet the fluttering with a mug of steaming hot coffee.

Her shower was hot and steamy too.

She luxuriated under the unrelenting stream, washing and conditioning her hair.

Her legs had been carefully shaved for the last few weeks, ready for any surprise eventuality, but tonight she spent a little more time, lightly tracing her slick soaped skin with her razor. Neatening.

Then slathering herself with a sweet scented moisturiser, until her skin softly gleamed.

Returning to her bedroom wrapped only in a towel she stood by her open closet, using another towel to rub her hair.

She had no idea what to wear.

What did you wear to an evening like this?

Underwear was sorted at least.

No thanks to the most awkward shopping trip she had ever been on.

It had been the pretty colours in the window display that had drawn her into the store.

That and the tingles of 'new relationship' that no woman could fight.

New relationship, new underwear, new hopes and dreams.

And damn it…

It had taken her so long to tempt Grissom this far that she was damn well going to do her best to look good when she finally got him there.

She had hovered by the window, taking in the display before her.

And suddenly she recognised that the plain black or white cotton she usually wore would not really measure up.

Functional and work appropriate as it was.

She had the quick flash of herself dressed in something sensual and soft.

Something she'd feel sexy in, and comfortable too.

And certainly something simple and classic.

And not something which would give him a damn heart attack either!

She wanted to be all woman.

That was the little boost that got her over the threshold and into a place that made her feel more uncomfortable than any crime scene.

At least at a crime scene she had training. She had experience.

This store, the colours in there alone had been overwhelming, before she had even factored in the styles and the sizes and the fabric and the matching.

She had stumbled about a little, trying to find something.

Moving from stand to rail to stand to little hanger.

It was a few minutes later when a nasally voice had cut through her musings, correctly guessing her sizes in a sharply honest toe to shoulders sweep that had brought heat to her face.

The sales assistant, a woman in her forties, with platinum hair and spider-like eyelashes had then trailed her around the store, twittering in her ear about colours to suit her, and ways to enhance curves and lengthen legs.

Yeah… like she needed help in that department.

With her annoyance growing with every passing minute, she had in the end just grabbed a handful of different colours and styles eager to get to the counter and the hell out of there as quickly as possible.

That had been a week or so ago.

All of the things she had bought that day still had all the tags.

Yeah she could really see herself rummaging through a decomp at a dumpsite wearing something like this under her forensics overalls.

Reaching out she finally selected a set in a sensual shade of deep wine red, rubbing the silken fabric between her thumb and forefinger.

She took a deep breath; silently apologising for all the bad thoughts she had aimed at that irritating shop assistant.

The woman had been right, it wasn't just about being practical.

The fabric was sexy under her fingers.

She smiled as she slid the underwear into place.

Catching her image in the mirror, she blinked once, before she let her breath slide back out.

Yeah, this could well be just the boost she needed.

The butterflies were back in force, but their fluttering was easing closer to sweetly intoxicating.

o0o0o0o0o0o

The bedcovers settled in a wave of refreshingly cooler air and the soft enticing scent of freshly washed bedding.

He was trying to pass the time.

Which in its turn was crawling.

His home was overly tidy.

He had rested, restlessly, for a time.

He had showered, shaped his beard, pulled faces at his wrinkles in the bathroom mirror.

Chosen clothes, casual blue short-sleeved shirt, blue jeans.

Practised sucking in his stomach and then felt stupid about it.

Prepared a pasta dish and salad with the ingredients he had purchased earlier.

Too early to heat it.

He was now left to clock watch.

He was determined to be on time.

Not wanting to surprise her by being early or unnerve her by being late.

But just sitting waiting for half an hour to pass was absolute torture.

When had he become so impatient?

He was a man who had been known to sit for days studying the life cycles of bugs, a man who had sat for hours watching bugs devour animal carcasses.

Although the last time he had done that he hadn't been alone.

He had spent his first 'night out' with Sara.

It had hardly been a date, but the mood had been right, there had been moonlight and stars, and quiet, there had been coffee and blankets and plenty of things to keep conversation rippling.

He had realised he was falling that night.

Not that he had known what to do when he landed.

But he did now.

29 minutes.

17minutes.

11minutes.

At five minutes he gave up with the awkward pacing.

Grasping his car keys he made it all the way out to his car before he remembered that he had forgotten her gift.

With a frantic sigh he scurried back inside.

Eventually he made it to her front door with only two minutes to spare.

Two minutes to hover.

Her gift clutched awkwardly in his left hand.

Two minutes of calming breaths, and knowing that the future lay just beyond that wooden door.

His arm lifted.

His knuckles made contact with the surface of the door.

Twice.

It was seven pm.


	5. Chapter 5

**Disclaimer:** Not mine, but it is nice to share.

**Author Notes:** It has been an age for this poor little story. I'm sorry.

A huge and heartfelt Thank you to all those who have reviewed, the only thank you I can give is to keep going with this… and a shout out to my elusive reader TG who has somehow managed to leave more reviews for this than there are chapters! I haven't forgotten this story I promise, I just hope it hasn't forgotten me.

p.s: Two fics in one weekend… can't you just tell there are important things I should have done this weekend that I am trying to avoid! ;)

**Holding Patterns.**

By Rianne.

_Chapter 5._

She had a total of seventeen minutes.

Seventeen painful minutes left to wait.

Seventeen minutes of tapping toes, trembling fingers that just would not still, and endless nervous shifting.

Everything inside her felt like it was in constant motion.

Bubbling and alive with nervous energy and delight.

Whilst everything about her plodded along at an unthinkably slow ebb.

Seventeen minutes.

Of pulse beating, nerves jumping, fluttering stomach.

Seventeen more shifts that the minute hand had yet to make around the full circular dial on her watch.

And there would, of course, be no chance of him being early. Actually, scratch that… he would be early, but he would wait until exactly seven before he knocked at her door.

He would hover out front like a jumpy stalker, waiting right until the very last second before he raised his knuckles to the wood.

He would think he was doing her a favour, which was the funny thing. When really he was just about driving her out of her mind.

He was probably out there right now, but she couldn't work up the nerve to go and peer out the window.

But after all, it was nice to be nervous.

Nervous in this nice way, certain that something good was about to happen.

It didn't happen that way for her often.

This sweet anticipation.

She ran her palms over the soft black fabric of her trousers again, trying to soothe herself with the stroke of the fabric against her skin, the sensation nice and unfamiliar and different to her usual jeans.

She refused to give into the temptation to go and peer at herself in the looking glass again.

She knew that giving into that urge would mean the overwhelming desire to be frantically raiding the wardrobe again, fighting the pain and aggravation and wanting to cry out loud in frustration at her usually didn't bother her, but recently discovered, limited selection of clothes hidden behind those doors.

No, this was the outfit.

Sleek, soft black trousers, long mid-thigh length gossamer thin cardigan, which was extra soft too, and beneath that the one piece of clothing she wore that she felt nervous about, a deep red, lace trimmed, cotton camisole with delicate straps.

Not low cut by any means, not revealing, yet still more feminine than anything he had ever seen her wear before.

With a faint groan of embarrassed frustration she lowered her head with a huffed out sigh.

Studying her bare toes, the nails unpainted, it just wasn't her style, looking strange peeking out of the only pair of strappy sandals she owned.

Dizzily glaring down at her feet, she swayed between feeling empowered by the pretty feminine touches in her outfit and enjoying how they made her feel, and the uncertainty and unfamiliarity and insecurity she always felt about herself.

He knew her too well for her to be able to hide tonight, he would know immediately the moment she put on any airs and graces, would know as soon as she tried to hide from him.

He knew her, he wanted her, and still she could hardly believe it.

He had wanted her, even first thing in the morning when she had effectively slept in her clothes all night!

It felt good to dress up some and present herself nicely.

He probably wouldn't notice, but maybe he might.

She lent her elbows on her knees, twisting her fingers together in a forced attempt to not look at the clock again.

She just needed a distraction.

God, a beer would be great right now.

Cool and crisp, bubbles prickling as they burst on her tongue, the soothing slide of tangy liquid gliding down her throat.

She could practically taste it.

There were some in the back of her fridge. She could picture them there, condensation beading along the sleek chilled lines of green glass.

Just one wouldn't hurt, it would loosen her up a little, calm the raging of her nerves.

But her attention was pulled in that other direction again.

It was becoming an obsession.

Her eyes were drawn again to the watch on her wrist.

Eight minutes.

No, not even a beer would cut it.

She swallowed and breathed, keeping her eyes closed like she was in some kind of hypnotic state.

Four minutes.

God, she laughed quietly to herself, how was it that Nicky, and Greg and even Cath were always raving about this dating business? Sure, she hadn't been on one for a long time, but she still felt the same about this whole process.

How anyone could ever think that dating was the exciting part of any relationship?

They were definitely wrong about that one.

How could this twisted stomach feeling, this inability to sit still, this inability to stop looking at the clock, this being wary and uncomfortable in your own skin, be the best of anything?

Three minutes.

Oh yeah, this was not exciting, no, this was terrifying.

Butterflies and beating heart and shivers…

Alright, maybe those weren't too painful.

The way her body reacted just at the thought of him couldn't ever be bad.

She took another shuddering breath.

She shifted the overnight bag at her feet with the tip of her toe and wondered again if she hadn't read all the signs wrong, read too much into his offers earlier in the parking lot, interpreted too much from that gleam in his eyes.

Even the bag before her held a wealth of connotations.

And not so many items inside.

A change of underwear, her toothbrush, a few other cosmetics, a change of clothes for tomorrow.

She hadn't packed any nightwear, a bold move on her part, was it more of a daydream to sleep nude in his arms than something she would feel brave enough doing when the moment came… should she have packed nightwear?

Indecision twisted her belly again, she looked towards her bedroom, her fingers twitching to go and at least throw in something to sleep in.

She was on her feet, brain racing through the clutter in her dresser to choose something to take.

When the knock came.

Jolting her.

Knocking the breath from her.

Seven O'Clock.

Panicked she turned back towards the door, the wave of nerves surging up again, making her blind to everything but the man and the evening ahead of her that lay beyond her apartment door.

So fixated in fact that she took three strides across the room before her left foot made contact with something soft but substantial and then she was flying.

Stumbling hard over the temporarily forgotten overnight bag and crashing straight into the front door with a winding thump.

Unable to stop herself with her outstretched palms, the tender flesh of her wrists took the brunt of her weight before her breasts were also crushed against the wood.

Nooooooo!!

She heard the whimper escape her.

But she just couldn't open her eyes.

She had not just done that.

But of course she had.

Delicate, Sara, just perfect.

There was no way that he hadn't heard that.

She took a breath and a step back from the door.

Smoothing down her clothes again as she took another moment to get her breath back, then she risked a glance through the peephole, the fish eye lens curving the view before her.

There he was, his nervous features warped into a humorous distortion.

He was finally here, this was finally happening.

No more waiting.

This was going to be okay, this was going to be okay.

It was GOING to be okay.

**0o0o0o0o0o0**

Outside the door he pulled his hand back, taking a step backwards as something barrelled into the door from the inside.

There was a moment of quiet.

"Sara," he gently tapped on the wood again, "are you alright in there?"

More silence.

He then heard the bolts and chains being drawn back.

The door swung open and there she was.

Smile broad and shoulders high and obviously all bravado.

"Sara…?" he repeated, his eyebrow rising, still worried that something was wrong. "What was that?"

"What was what?" she tossed back cheekily glancing back up at him with eyebrows raised, sounding way, way calmer than she felt.

The nervous excitement brimming into a gorgeous smile.

And he smiled too, eyebrows still at full rise mirroring hers, a blend of curiosity and amusement.

He did not believe her for a moment, that was obvious, but he didn't seem to be doing anything about it, except standing there.

And why was he just standing there?

Mainly because she looked so beautiful, her intoxicating teasing smile was pulling at him in ways he found irresistible, flowing out to him, wrapping around him, coaxing him into cahoots with her, even if he had no idea about what was happening.

It took another moment before the intensity of his attention had her really wanting to squirm.

So she was the first to break their connection; it was stretching out for too long and self-consciousness was creeping in.

She looked away, waiting for him to say something.

Of course he didn't.

She fidgeted, tucking a stray strand of her hair behind her ear.

From the brush of her fingers against her cheek she was caught by how warm her skin was and that meant only one thing.

She was blushing.

Pressing the backs of her hands to her flushed cheeks she looked coyly up at him above her fingertips, shy beneath her highlighted dark lashes, as a trickle of laughter escaped her.

He really wasn't going to say anything, so as usual she had to get the conversation rolling.

"Hi?" She managed to whisper, cringing a little on the inside at how breathy she sounded.

And that broke the spell.

Still bemused he returned the greeting just as softly.

"Hi… Sara, did something…"

"I tripped," she admitted biting her lower lip, "was stupid, I left my bag in the way, I…" her voice trailed off and for a moment they just stood there facing each other smiling.

Drinking one another in.

The air between them tingling and less nervous now, more anticipatory.

"Did you hurt yourself?" he reached out concerned, but she waved him off.

"Just my pride," she admitted begrudgingly as she rolled her eyes, trying to retain any sense of her usual self and failing, feeling her lips melting back into a smile.

Noticing how nicely he was dressed.

Relaxed, in a pale blue polo shirt and comfortable jeans.

He was there.

Really standing before her.

"You look lovely," he whispered to her, and before she could process his compliment he was moving.

And she found herself breathing in as he leant towards her, her cheeks flushing once again as he pressed a soft kiss just to the left side of her mouth.

His lips were light and soft amongst a wave of his warm breath and she swooned a little inside.

And the air practically crackled with a new awareness.

A 'date' awareness.

An awareness that this was nothing like they were used too.

And a building anticipation, this was it. Finally it!

When he drew back she noticed the hand behind his back.

Curious, but subtle she leant sideways, trying to see around to what he was concealing, but he quirked a brow and hid his secret evasively.

"You brought me something?" she questioned, teasing lit sounding strange.

He looked uncomfortable then, awkward and unsure and immediately she wished she could take the words back, to make it all all right again.

They were right back to awkward. Again.

Eventually, looking sheepish he withdrew his gift and shyly held it out to her.

Knowing that it was frivolous and unnecessary to bring her a gift, but he had wanted too.

"A spider, for a spider," he muttered self-conscious still. Referring to the head massage gift she had given him earlier. "I'm sorry about the wrapper, I…"

But she cut him off.

"Thank you," she smiled back shyly, the curve of her lips warming the tone pleasurably, clearly touched, as she took the elaborately decorated spider plant from him, her fingers reaching out to pluck the little white card from between the fronds.

Only to feel the heart stopping contact of his touch to her fingers, halting her progress in opening the little envelope.

"Open it later," he assured, his gaze intent and almost pleading with her.

"Okay," she responded, surprised, and downright curious about what sentiment that little card held. She could only hope it was more than 'From Grissom,' this time. But if he was so insistent then waiting seemed the least she could do.

She reverently placed the gift on a bookshelf beside the door, only the third gift he had ever given her, smiling at it and the mystery of the message behind it.

"Shall we go?" He suggested from behind her.

And she turned back to him, trying to not look as eager as she felt.

"Let me get your bag," he bent to scoop it up a gentleman through and through.

"Griss…." She countered, his name escaping her lips in a way that clearly told him that she felt she was on vulnerable ground.

Panicked she too stooped to capture the bag herself.

She was flustered and distracted and all at once too aware of all the changes in their relationship that the little bag represented.

Unnerved and embarrassed at the difference in the way he was treating her, she didn't know how to feel about the fuss he was making.

And with a dull clunk their foreheads cracked.

Stunned, both reeled for a moment of silence.

And a dizzy spinning throb of headache.

Followed by a rapid, tumble of apology and guilt and anxiety.

Both of them brushing away their own pain to check on the other.

Both panting out; "You okay?" at exactly the same moment. Kismet!

Once sure they were both fine, laughing seemed the only way to shatter the awkward desperation of the moment.

And the relief of it felt good, and only ebbed out as he carefully captured her face in his palms, drawing her up to look at him.

Allowing them both to take a moment to calm down and slow down.

Dissolving into shy smiles as they relaxed some.

Stroking her hair he took another moment to just smile at her before he stepped away.

"I'll carry your bag," he told her, " before you do yourself, or me," he added with a sly grin, "any more mischief."

And she smiled, she agreed far too much to pout.

**0o0o0o0o0o0**

He held the car door open for her and she just did not know how to handle that, but it seemed important to him so she let him.

Just like she had accepted the warm press of his palm against her lower back. A gentle touch with which he guided her away from her apartment.

The car journey was oddly quiet.

He turned down the radio as he started the engine indicating that he might want to talk with her, but the further they moved from her apartment, the more they fell into contemplative silence.

It was just the behaviour pattern they seemed to fall into lately when they were outside of the privacy of one another's homes, or the familiarity of the Lab, like they slid a mask over their emotions.

It had always been hard enough, for the both of them, to open up about their feelings to one another in private, they were trying, and they were learning.

But with the outside world as a witness it was unthinkable.

She knew that there were rules and regulations in place at work that they had to be careful about. So being 'normal' around their friends and colleagues was always a must, but she didn't know why they continued with this façade in times like this? To pretend the nervousness didn't exist?

I mean, come on, no one out there cared if they were having intimate conversations in public, people in Vegas often had far, far worse.

It was stupid and she was well aware that it was juvenile and ridiculous, that she wasn't all-important, that the drunken Vegas tourists didn't even blink an eye at anything she did.

But she still felt oddly anxious and under scrutiny, painfully aware of herself and how much bravery every single gesture towards him took.

Thank goodness he wasn't taking her to a restaurant right now.

Nothing good was easy, that was for sure, but the idea of someone else watching her in these moments of weakness, besides Grissom, was just awful, just plain awful.

It was painful enough that Grissom had to see her bumbled attempts to express her affections and emotions.

Her reaction to him arriving to pick her up just now was the perfect example.

God, she couldn't even think about it without wanting to die with embarrassment.

She longed to be good at this; it looked so easy when others interacted in such a way.

Why couldn't she be sexy and alluring and normal around him?

But there was nowhere to look up answers like that.

This was one place where all her book learning wouldn't be able to help her.

She frustrated herself so much she wanted to scream.

She just had to try, to experiment, she was usually so good at that!

She should say something, break the quiet…

But what was there to say? This silence was crazy. It was becoming an almost living being in the car with them.

After the events of the last few days, after falling asleep in each others arms, after endless heated kisses and slow caresses, surely they were more comfortable around one another than this?!

But as this insane nervousness, proved, clearly they were not.

So something to talk about, work… no… a journal… no…

God, her life was boring, she couldn't even make small talk anymore!

Okay, what did other people talk about at times like this, well… there were the usual mood killers involving latex brands and doctor's checkups and painful personal history questions, but no one wanted to have those conversations.

And working where they did, and knowing each other for so long ruled the necessity for asking some of that, but she really did not know how to bring up the other things.

He would blush seven million shades of red if she just calmly announced that she was on the pill right now and really she didn't want to cause him any distraction, not whilst he was driving.

At the thought of flustered Grissom she cracked a sly smile.

It was amusing really all things considered.

Absurd that it was awkward talking about what they both knew they were planning, or at least hoping to take part in this evening.

No, make that most definitely hilarious, especially after the sheer number of times that she had spoken of _sex_ with him. Damn, even her brain whispered it in his presence.

And after this morning too when they had almost… and it had been so good.

That was the problem, she should never be given time to think things over. Her mind took too many liberties.

Like thinking things along the lines of: If the idea of them having sex was rendering them mute, maybe they shouldn't be having it?

Or maybe they had talked themselves out.

After all she had lost count of the number of times that they had stood in crime scenes, in cars, restaurants, hotels and other places she didn't even like to think about other people's carnal behaviours in, breathing in the musk left behind, examining the evidence of the pleasure of others, the torn underwear, the lipstick stained glasses, the occasional dead body...

Trying not to blush or blanch, keeping it professional when their thoughts were anything but.

It was wrong really, tasteless, but they had to keep the moral up some how. So they joked, they sparred, they all did it, flirting and teasing over unmade beds, words volleyed and tossed back and forth across tangled five star linen, but there was always more behind the words when she played this game with Grissom, more tantalising danger, the memory of private teasing words of banter echoing back at them from inside the close quarters of a minuscule claustrophobic aeroplane bathroom still made her grin.

It depended on the scene, her hormones, or her mood, or in the past her current position on the hate Grissom to love Grissom scale that she had weighted everything against, as to whether her mind wandered to daydreams of pleasure or her stomach twisted to distaste.

And yet now they said nothing.

Oh God this was crazy! What was wrong with her!

But that was okay, it didn't really matter, it was just something else to tax her overactive brain and hyperactive imagination and keep that silence well and truly filled to the brim.

She was more than glad to see his house pull into view.

Thank god, the silence had just about felt like he was driving her out of her mind.

At least there would be motion now, something to distract from the 'what happens next' thoughts now scrambling for focus in her mind.

Were they going to head straight in and straight back into bed?

A huge part of her would love that, to climb back into the calm and content hours of earlier in the day when she had woken happy in his arms. Yeah, she'd definitely like for that to happen again. With more being held, and kisses and maybe a little time left over for actual sleep, but this time those wonderful things wouldn't be the main event, so to speak.

Oh God!

Her stomach trembled at the thought.

Going straight into his bed, with him… it was tempting…

Her nerves would probably appreciate that more than anything, but she doubted that was his plan for them.

He was wearing date clothes, bringing… well not flowers, but their Grissom equivalent, and truthfully he was just too much of a gentleman for his own damn good.

And now he was coming around the car to open the door for her, shy smile on his face and his palm centred against her back again, that simple warm touch.

She had to hide her own smile at his struggle to find his keys, and then fit them into the lock.

He was nervous too.

Good.

That was better.

And then they were inside and everything was different there.

She felt calmer, more secure.

The scent of food filled the air and her nerves seemed to fade and be replaced by two different kinds of hunger.

**o0o0o0o0o0o0o**

Yes, he felt calmer now that they were inside his home.

The car ride had been blissful torture; he had never felt so scrambled around Sara before.

He loved just sitting beside her, taking her home with him.

But the accompanying agonising silence, changed the comfortable into slightly painful, into palm sweatingly nerve wracking.

And his brain was hurting from trying so hard to conjure up something to talk to her about, he had fumbled for topics for conversation, and kept fumbling… what did she like… _vegetation_ had been his conscience's somewhat cocky response, so clearly that wasn't going to help him here.

And then he had been pulling into his familiar parking space and time had run out for him to open his mouth and so action had been the next thing on his to do list.

Gentleman, be a gentleman.

He had clambered out of the car, opening her door for her, relishing the fact that he was allowed to reach out and touch her lower back, just like he had watched the suave old movie stars do when he was a kid, guiding their leading ladies gracefully and with class.

Although their palms probably didn't tremble, and they usually didn't fumble with their keys as they tried to open their own front door.

Getting inside had been something of a relief.

Here he could find more semblance of himself, hopefully, and stop acting like a nervous teenager.

The smell of the pasta he had prepared earlier was still warm and spicy in the air.

Food, offer her some food.

And wine, wine was good.

He finally opened his mouth, and asked, "drink?" whilst lifting up the bottle.

She smiled and nodded, looking as relieved as he felt.

He uncorked the wine, carefully poured two glasses, handing one to Sara in return for a pretty crinkle of her eyes.

Okay good, now food.

He could do that. Crossing into the open kitchen area he set to work, turning the gas on under the pan of pasta to a simmer, washing his hands and then tearing the bread into pieces.

Always conscious that she stood a few foot away, lounging against his breakfast bar, taking the occasional sip from her glass, her attention focused on different things, dancing from his actions to the butterflies and other curiosity items framed on his walls.

It seemed that no matter how many times she visited, his walls still offered fascination for her.

And his bookshelf seemed to have a positively magnetic affect on her. So he knew not to be worried when she drifted away, knew immediately what had enraptured her, she was going to look at the books.

He took a breath, free from her scrutiny for a few minutes, he was able to give himself a little shake to try and rid him of all his nerves.

He glanced over at her back, the quaint way she tilted her head to read the titles of his books, one finger tracing the spines as if they were a thing of beauty.

In so many small ways she was perfect for him.

She was someone to be awed by, someone to be grateful for, thankful for, not someone to fear, he shouldn't fear the way he felt for her.

He was in love with her, had wanted this for so long, despite all his confusing thoughts and struggles.

It was time.

And in that moment he had never been surer of himself, he felt calm confidence begin to glow inside him.

Taking his wine glass in hand he took a long sip, feeling the warmth of the liquid flood into his system.

All he wanted to do was to go over there, to be close to her, to share a nice meal with her whilst he whispered things that drove them both crazy, and then to finally give in, wrap his arms around her and take all the time he wanted to show her how much she meant to him.

He'd give it his best shot anyway.

Oh, it was way past time to get this date started…


	6. Chapter 6

**Disclaimer: **This story is coming out of hiding and would like to sincerely apologise. I cannot believe that this has not been updated since January... of last year... I would also like to warn readers that the end of this chapter is probably closer to M than to T but I'm sure that will tempt a few grins! Spider info comes from a book simply entitled Spiders by Michael Chinery which does indeed have a chapter the topic discussed which made me laugh. And I think I may be terribly crazy, I've started thinking about GSR in my real life! I was in Agent Provocateur last week and they had a gorgeous bathrobe which I really thought Griss should have bought for Sara – black silk and covered in flowers, dragonflies and yes you guessed it Spiders! And it was only... £565! Yikes!

**Author Notes:** If any of you are still reading this, thank you and thank you to all of you who have been reviewing this story... you all know who you are! I watched last night's CSI (Two Mrs. Grissom's) this morning and the happy ending made the need to finally fix all my long standing problems with chapter 6 of this fic overwhelming. So for the love of Grissom and Sara... here it is! Please, anyone let me know if I've missed any of the POV switches I should have made. I have been looking at these words a long time! x

**Holding Patterns**

_Chapter Six_

His footsteps were quiet across the smooth grey tiled floor.

Measured, collected and steady.

But she heard him approach anyway, and the anticipatory quiver in her stomach felt good. She took a breath, tilting her head back into his space as he came up behind her, drawn to stand closer than they normally allowed themselves too.

The deep breath she drew once he stepped into her shadow caused her back to brush against his warm chest, made her all the more aware of their new proximity.

Very aware of herself, of her heart, fragile and yet brave, beating faster inside her, causing her breasts strain against her top with each wavering rise and fall.

She took a long slow swallow of wine, as if unaffected, concentrating on enjoying the richness of the alcohol, but only seconds passed before she gave up the pretense, lowering the delicate glass onto the shelf and away from her suddenly unsteady fingers.

Instead she tried to occupy her fluttering mind with trying to turn the crazy looking symbols on the spines of the books before her into words and then into cognitive sense, when she felt crowded in a good way and shy and flustered.

She wasn't used to being this nervous around him. Being this close physically always gave her the good kind of fumbles, it was natural to be giddy when in close contact with someone you felt attracted too, but usually she had clear boundaries about what would and wouldn't be happening between them.

This time all bets were off, well and truly off.

o0o0o0o0o0o

He had felt her swallow.

Felt the waves of her muscles dance as the heady wine had slid warmth.

He licked his lips slowly, tasting the wine from his own glass there, pungent and fruity.

They were standing close, but she didn't act as if he was crowding her. In fact she had leant casually back into his body as if they stood together like this all the time.

Which was nice.

And didn't make him as apprehensive as he had foolishly feared it might.

It was a heightened awareness of her that only came with being able to feel stray wisps of her hair brush against his beard as she breathed.

Of being close enough to see her curves rise and fall.

He longed to kiss her, the quick peck on her doorstep hadn't been nearly enough. He needed to taste her, to taste the wine on her lips, its nectar fortifying and sweet. Sharing a bottle in a more intimate sense.

But they had time, and he had patience.

Well, he had self control.

He had promised her a date, food, conversation, flirtation.

And her interest in his diverse library gave him the perfect conversation starter.

o0o0o0o0o0o

"Doing some research?" His voice was quiet, teasing, low. She could feel it stirring her hair.

It was then that she took the time to blink and to read the gold leaf print on the spine beneath her browsing fingers.

'The Mating Habits of Crab Spiders.'

Only an entomologist.

Only Grissom!

Laughing softly, she bumped teasingly back against him with her shoulder, misjudging it ever so slightly so it was more clumsy than graceful, but he didn't seem to notice.

"Fascinating reading..." he persevered.

He was using that Professor voice of his, the one that had captured her attention from his very first sentence all those years ago, the very one she would be willing to learn about anything to hear him speak to her in that tone.

"Is that so," she coaxed, "and what tips might I learn from Ms. Spider?"

"Plenty."

Her eyes lulled closed at the seduction in his voice, only flicking open again as his wrist brushed hers in the process of withdrawing the book from the shelf.

He flicked through the gilt edged pages, the scent of old paper filling her with nostalgia for her favourite second-hand bookshop in the Bay.

Finding his page he leant the book against the shelf, the carefully etched diagram before her was elegant and beautiful.

"Did you know that the female Crab spider likes to play?" His breathing was slow and intimate. "She's a real temptress, entices a male into her web and then allows him to tie her down to it with a few flimsy strands of its silk?"

Oh god, that voice and spider sex...

He chuckled, clearly aware, as she was, of how bizarre this conversation was becoming.

It took entirely too much concentration for her to complete simple tasks such as focus and swallow.

"So she's pinned and squirming and that's when he has his wicked way with her?" her enquiry was all innocence, her grin sly, trying to ignore the interest her body seemed to have suddenly vested in this conversation.

His chuckle rumbled through his chest and her spine straightened as his palms came down on either side of her, effectively pinning her against the shelving.

"Indeed, but she clearly knows who is in charge," he continued with a murmur, lips closer to her ear now.

Trapped between Grissom and textbooks, it was so wrong that this situation turned her on.

And of course she already knew he had a certain proclivity about this. About being in this kind of scenario with her.

And she already knew what her pounding heart was trying desperately to alert her too, the fact that pinning her down was a very mutual fantasy.

And what was extremely clear, was that they were both remembering that encounter, at the very same time, with enough vibrancy to make it feel very, very real.

Except this time she couldn't see his face. Couldn't loose herself in the depths of restraint and expression that existed in those eyes of his.

And she wanted too.

There was no hiding from the fact that just the memory of the look he had given her that day still sent thrills through her and scrambled her brain in ways that nothing else could.

But the situation had been wrong, there had been a dead girl, there had been a case, a ticking clock and fraying tempers.

And enough misunderstanding and second guessing and vulnerable self-consciousness to flood the desert.

But that look had still remained as effective, even when the hot shame and embarrassment of her reaction to him had cooled.

And she knew now, knew with a confidence and surety she had never imagined she could gain, that what he couldn't say with words, or even borrowed words, he said with those eyes.

She needed to see his eyes.

o0o0o0o0o0o

"Fascinating reading..." he persevered, fighting to ignore the warm scent of her hair that teased him with every intake of breath.

"Is that so," she coaxed, "and what tips might I learn from Ms. Spider?"

He grinned, feeling wicked, repositioning his feet very carefully, making sure that she did not notice, but bringing himself just a little closer.

"Plenty."

Her breath hitched at his words in a way which shouldn't have made him feel masculine, but it did.

He could not resist the urge to touch her, an innocent desire and yet so far from it too.

Eternally surprised at just how soft her skin was, the delicate derma of her wrist brushing over the rougher, faintly haired of his own as he drew the book she was touching from the shelf and selected the page he was after.

"Did you know that the female Crab spider likes to play? She's a real temptress, entices a male into her web and then allows him to tie her down to it with a few flimsy strands of its silk?"

This was madness, this tempting proximity, this taunt and tease, this barmy conversation.

The chuckle that escaped him was a little tension released.

"So she's pinned and squirming and that's when he has his wicked way with her?"

That made him swallow slow, her innocent act, playful and flirty, a behaviour he had seen from her only on the rarest occasions.

She knew just how much this was exciting him.

How the image of her pinned beneath him and straining stirred something primal in his soul.

Something he had fantasised about since that fated case where she had commanded he pin her down.

And now, in a rush of lust he realised that now the freedom was his to do so.

His arms came down around her.

His grip harsh against the wooden shelf. The edge of the wood imprinting across his palms.

"Indeed, but she clearly knows who is in charge," the low growl of his words was only just controlled on the bookshelf's edge of pain digging into his flesh, sweat breaking out along his hairline.

She wavered in the frame of his arms, before turning towards him, forcing him to reign in his thoughts, relax his face, even if there was no chance of slowing the staccato race of his heart.

o0o0o0o0o0o

Turning in his arms was easier than she expected, the soft floaty material of her cardigan fluid around her, he accommodated her motions, loosening his arms, but not releasing her.

Her face tilted up, looking at him from beneath her lashes.

"Hi," she sounded so breathless, and the corner of her lips quirked up shyly.

"Hi," he mirrored her expression, but his eyes and the teasing quirk of his brow assured her he was anything but shy.

The new confidence there caused her to swallow again.

Oh yes, he wanted this too.

"How's your head now?" he asked softly, his voice now lilting with care and concern, the thread of conversation diverging, both feeling more comfortable now, having teased past some of the nervousness to find themselves in a place where they could finally put aside their residual shame at always seeming to humiliate themselves in random heartbreaking ways.

Her gaze glanced away, amused now at their earlier fumbled collision.

His lips breezed gently against the faint bump on her temple, his breath stirring hair.

Her heart gave a sweet little thump.

His lips soft and gentle, soothing the small bruise which would no doubt form under the soft skin, his forehead creased in guilt as he withdrew.

"I think that's the first time our intellect has collided quite like that!"

She couldn't help but laugh softly at his terrible joke, he was trying so hard.

The next breath she took was deep and slow, her body swaying with the motion of it.

But it steeled her just enough.

Gave her the courage to rush up on her tiptoes and spontaneously peck a kiss to his head in return.

Nervousness enhancing her clumsiness, endearingly.

As she lowered back to her heels their eyes met, barely a whisper between them, their breath warm against the others skin.

And the ache was so present it was incredible.

Their lips met in that wonderful slow motion way.

Stroking slowly at first.

Her lower lip barely brushing against his top lip.

Breath warming the delicate skin.

Sending beautiful shimmers of pleasure down tingling nerves.

The groan that filled the air was hers and brought colour to her cheeks, but it was worth it.

Things intensified at the sound. The light, dipping contact becoming more heated, pressure increasing, teasing tastes of wine and promised pleasure, a definite prelude to what had better follow after all this heady build up.

She was so ready for this.

Her fingers sank into his hair, nails lightly scratching.

God, this was good.

o0o0o0o0o0o

Her face tilted up to his, slowly, and the beauty of the woman before him crashed over him more intensely than ever.

Shy, powerful, vulnerable, intelligent, nervous, and his.

Her heavy lashes lifted, her breathless, "Hi," reminding him how tremulous this moment was.

Allowing him to reveal some of his own trepidation, and to encourage her too, his smile easy, his brow lifting to draw a smile from her lips too.

"Hi."

He sounded confident, ready, assured.

Oh yes, he wanted this too.

And so did she.

"How's your head now?" he asked, watching amused as she glanced away in mild embarrassment. Yes, the Sara he knew was still with him.

His thankful lips caressed over her forehead, as his mind once again dammed his inherent clumsiness and his hard head!

"I think that's the first time our intellect has collided quite like that!" he murmured as he withdrew.

She laughed, that smile of hers wide as she squinted her eyes at him, appreciating his bad joke.

Then her gaze grew softer, as she rose onto her toes to return his kiss.

His eyes drifted closed as the petals of her lips pressed against his forehead.

She was soothing the wrong side of his forehead, but he didn't have the heart to point that out.

This woman in his arms could kiss him where ever she deigned fit.

Her nose slid against his as she drew back, but she did not retreat as far as before.

She hovered, her soft, warm breath against his lips.

He wanted her so badly.

And he got her.

Taking his sweet time.

Their lips barely touching, faintly caressing as if they were forming words against one another's mouths, but words paled into insignificance at how this felt.

Until she groaned.

He hadn't expected that, such a low aching sound which could have easily have escaped from him too.

He couldn't resist such encouragement, taking her mouth, hungrily. Tasting the wine and the desire.

Her fingers reaching for him, landing on his chest, in his hair.

The sensations she was raking against his scalp were rumbling through his body.

She felt amazing against him, warm and alive, and his wandering fingers drew her up against his body.

She was gasping for breath, snatching air between his stroking invasions of her mouth.

He felt lightheaded and freer and powerful and... happy.

o0o0o0o0o0o

She ignored the faint buzz of the oven timer until they could block its irritating alarm no longer.

She moaned disturbed, dragging her swollen mouth away, but his moved on to her throat, melting her knees.

"Grisss?" God, was that her panting?

The only acknowledgement he had heard her was a sensual stroke of his tongue over her beating pulse.

His mouth was so hot.

The groan that escaped him against her skin was liquid and resonated everywhere.

She distractedly wondered how her skin tasted to him, salty, sweet?

How his skin would taste? Where would that clever mouth of his wander next?

"Gris," her head fell back against the shelf, "the food," but her protest lack urgency.

It took him another few moments to lift his head his breathing still rapid and shallow.

His dark eyes were clouded, and heavy.

"What, are you hungry?" he managed to ask, the gleam returning to his arousal glazed eyes.

She could do nothing but laugh, delighted and throaty, surprised at how happy she sounded.

There was no safe way to answer that, she was ravenous in so many ways.

And from his expression he knew it, and felt it too.

He groaned as he finally released her, trying to carefully rearrange himself as he shuffled away to mute the alarm bells, and rescue his culinary attempts.

She watched him walking away, still needing the bookshelf for support a moment or two longer.

Eventually she was able to relinquish the prop of the shelf, scooped up her wine glass and followed him, amused at seeing him in such a domestic setting.

"Need a hand?" she offered, unused to just standing still and being waited upon.

He smiled over at her over his shoulder, then waved a pasta drainer in one hand and indicated the plates with his other.

And together they worked to serve.

Somehow still managing to occasionally jostle and bump one another in the relaxed open plan area.

Orbiting one another in ever decreasing circles.

Enjoying the flirtation and the pull and the familiar act of working together.

When he grabbed a box of matches and disappeared outside she couldn't resist her curiosity, scooping up her wine as a casual pretense, she followed him over towards the growing darkness.

There was a little garden space of sorts beyond his back door.

Cacti in containers, small areas of pebbles and arid plants, and an outdoor dining set.

An ornate tiled table and two matching chairs.

And he was fussing, fidgeting to get it just right.

Darting about the small secluded space, tiny little lanterns hidden by the growing shadows bursting into life in his wake, settling a warm radiance over the entire garden.

She leant her hip against the door jamb and watched smiling, feeling a warm glow bloom.

He was making it special.

For her.

Her nerves rolled, but she swallowed them back down with another slow sip of wine.

And before he noticed her observation she quietly backtracked into his home, and returned with the basket of bread.

He looked up at her when she stepped into the tables glow and smiled shyly taking the basket from her and returned by her side into the house so they could both collect their steaming plates and wine.

And all the while she hoped that he could see how touched she was by his actions, but she held back the words, wondering if telling him might be over stating the obvious, afraid to shatter the serenity.

So instead feeling deliciously brazen she kissed him, stumbling into it, bumping gently against his shoulder, feeling the waves of heat from the plates between them rise up to dampen their chins.

She felt his surprise, and how quickly he relaxed in her tender affections.

And it made that little light inside her brighten sweetening their kiss.

Pulling away she noticed that they both slyly moistened their lips. Tasting happiness.

And to cap it all off her pulled out her chair for her and she fought the wave of chuckles the gesture evoked.

o0o0o0o0o0o

"Griss...?"

Yes, that was his name. Why was she talking now?

Now was too good for talking.

She had tilted her head back against the bookshelf and given him access to her throat and the heady beat of her pulse had him mesmerised.

That soft skin of hers tasted amazing, sweet with a faint hint of musk and the way her fingers tightened in his hair as he stroked his tongue over the beat curled all the way to his toes.

"Grissss... the food!"

Food? What food?

Ohhhhh... that food.

He lifted his head, which felt oddly heavy on his shoulders, "what, are you hungry?"

He restrained from wiggling his eyebrows, and despite that, she got it, her brain was obviously running faster than his.

Her laughter was a wonderful melodious tumble and that made him smile too.

How could he be moving away from her right now, was he crazy?

Yes.

But they needed to slow things down if this night was going to be anything like he had envisioned for them.

He untangled himself from her, groaning softly, adjusting himself discretely so he could walk, ready to shoot the bleating alarm on his oven, and he wasn't a violent man.

He tried to keep his brain on food and preparation, but it kept wandering, of its own volition of course, right back to the woman still reclining against his bookshelf.

He could feel the warmth of her body lingering on his and the way her gaze watched his movements.

He also felt her slow approach, noting with a sly smile that she hovered awkwardly at the edge of his kitchen area, unsure what to do with herself before she finally spoke up.

"Need a hand?"

She seemed relieved when he pointed out the pasta drainer, and from then on things seemed to get easier.

They weaved in and out of one another, bumping occasionally, as they distributed the food. Performing an almost elegant gastronomic ballet.

It was just so easy to be like this with her. She had no pretences, would not be offended at serving her own food, and as always it was a distinct pleasure to work in her presence.

He smiled at her busy back, before snagging the pack of matches and slipping away to light the candles he had scattered about his small garden space.

As each wick caught flame he moved on, until all the shadows were banished from the little alcove.

Gathering the spent matches he returned to the house, meeting her in the doorway, her eyes alight with the glow of the garden and something more.

She liked it.

Good.

And seconds later, pasta bowls in hand he was startled into stillness by the unexpected warm press of her lips to his.

Taken off guard and unable to touch her, he stood a little stunned, feeling the warmth of the bowl in his hand, and the intimate stroke of her lips before relaxing fully into the deepening kiss.

Eventually drawing away smiling, still tasting her on his lips.

Depositing the food on the table he tripped eagerly into gentleman mode, gesturing to the chair he held out for her, settling her in to the table, pretending he didn't see her giddy reaction.

o0o0o0o0o0o

"This is nice," she whispered in thank you, awkward and aware of herself again, but wanting to show appreciation of his behaviour, for the food, for his doing all of this for her.

"It came with the house," he shrugged in as equally quiet a reply; completely missing her intentions, thinking she meant to compliment his garden and furniture. Clearly not expecting thanks for his actions.

But she let it lie, as both began heartily tucking into good food, an easy distraction, as they began to dabble in tentative conversation.

Their words whispered over the small table, even though there was no one around to hear them banter over topics light and humorous. Covering all the acceptable subject matter for such an occasion, right down to the very dregs, of weather and how nice the food tasted.

This was silly, they were clearly avoiding certain things, work being the main, past relationships not that there was much to talk about there, and talking about oneself too much was always a conversation killer.

So eventually they faded into silence.

She nudged her food across her plate, noticing his fingertips drumming against his thigh.

And the wave of laughter she failed to bite back crested.

She finally risked meeting his gaze and he was looking at her, expression one of curiosity.

Her mouth opened, stretched as she tried to explain and then closed again with a twist of frustration.

He nodded, "It's been a while..."

She nodded in return.

"What exactly are you supposed to talk about on a... date?" she mouthed the last as if it was a taboo word of grand proportions.

He licked his lips thinking, and then touched his napkin to the corners of his mouth.

"So, what do you do for a living?"

His cheeky query caught her off guard and after another quiet moment she found herself actually laughing.

"Gris, I think we might be a little past that at this point."

He considered her with a tilted smile, his expression becoming more serious.

"I don't know," he took a thoughtful sip of wine. "I think there are many things I don't know about you."

Her twisted grin agreed, even if she did think that there needed to be some mystery.

"How about Harvard, what was it like being accepted to a school like that?"

And suddenly she had something to talk about.

Harvard, the surprise at the thick envelope when she had thought that just being able to send off an application to a school like that had been a dream which couldn't happen to her. Her initial awe at the place, even the very bricks had history and tradition, a world of hard work and an environment that was an endless source of inspiration and challenge.

And at times a struggle too, she had been younger than other undergrads, and a scholarship student in a mass of rich privileged kids. She had worked hard, had tutored high school mathematics on the sly so she had some money when her friends had suggested wild spur of the moment trips for Spring Break in her first years, and then she had eased away from that life and had found friends who were more likeminded and valued study like she had.

And the stories rolled, finding it so much easier to talk whilst in this little make-believe isolation of fairy lights and quiet.

The way that the candle light glinted in his eyes when the smile was restrained on his lips made the memories they were creating tonight seem so much more precious too.

She could not stop absorbing him.

Couldn't help but make light brushing contact every now and then, passing bread, or demonstrating amusing anecdotes with table top diagrams, any vague excuse would do.

And once the food was gone they both reclined, slipping wine and looking upwards towards the future with hopeful hearts.

The balmy temperature just right, as they lazily watched the final edges of the red sunset disappear for another day.

Around them moths of many kinds had begun to flutter about the candles, drawn to their beautiful glow, much to the delight of Grissom who was telling her tales of his trips to the rainforest, evoking thoughts of green leaves and moist heat, bringing the scent of fresh rich earth to his arid Vegas desert garden.

Taking her hand in his he etched the elegant shapes of the rarest butterflies across her skin, fingertips gliding across her palm all the way to her sensitive wrist, making her shiver happily at the touch and the unrepressed awe, amazement and energy in his voice as he recalled his past adventures for her.

Wide eyed at how romantic he was.

How easily affectionate after so many years of keeping her at a distance.

And the comfort. The ease of just being together was growing with each passing moment.

Offering smiles and laughter and affirming affinity.

The dark soothing them and relaxing their nerves.

"Would you like some more wine?" he asked, his voice now sounding calm and sleepy.

She nodded, murmuring 'please,' listening to the rustle of his clothing as he stood, and collected their plates together before heading inside.

She sat only a moment alone in the contemplative quiet before something happened inside her.

And without giving herself time to question her decision she rose to her feet and followed him.

He had his back to her in the now relatively dark kitchen area, was lifting the wine from his fridge, illuminated by the neon glow within, their two glasses out on the counter top before him, neatly side by side.

She was only a half step from him when he became aware of her presence.

Had just placed the wine bottle onto the counter when her hand caught his.

The heat of her skin was a salve against the bottle's chill as she curled her fingers around his.

His turn towards her felt agonisingly slow.

His eyes trailing from their joined hands, up her arm right into her eyes.

They hovered a moment, their gaze communicating all they needed to say, hearts beating madly.

Knowing it was time.

Before she gave him a gentle tug, feeling more powerful than she ever had as she guided him in the direction of his bedroom.

Maybe it was time to take some tips from Ms. Spider.

o0o0o0o0o0o

The meal went well he thought, over all, there had been the odd quiet moment every once in a while, especially in the early stages, but a few gentle teases and they had been able to delve in and out of conversation, enjoying the sweet feeling of nostalgia wrapping around them as they talked of good memories and moments past.

He would love to take her to the rainforest one day, to show her the butterflies for real.

Seeing them encapsulated on his apartment wall could never convey the beauty of them in the wild.

Just watching the way her eyes glittered, the candle light flickering in them as she had listened to his every word, asking questions from time to time, shivering as his touch had illustrated his words in tingly caress across her bare skin.

Yes, this meal had gone well. The formality had put them on edge, but you couldn't stay wary for long with a good meal and rich wine to soothe your worries.

Thinking of wine, he noticed her glass was low, "Would you like some more wine?"

She smiled, "please," and so he took her glass, and the empty bowls, back into the house for a refill.

The quiet moment gave him time to think.

He stared into the cool illuminated cavern of his refrigerator.

He didn't hear her approach until she was only a step away, and her fingers were capturing his, and tugging, her message clear in both her eyes and her actions.

With a heady deep breath he allowed himself to be pulled in her direction.

The bedroom was dark, cool and shadowy, the shades drawn nearly shut, but the glow from their fairytale garden outside still managed to filter through.

He slowed as she reached the doorway, pausing to reach out and flick on a lamp, but her stuttered voice changed his mind.

"Leave it... please?"

Her words sounded so vulnerable.

He let his fingers drop.

Feeling the same lustful tumbling response inside, the kind he enjoyed most from cresting roller coasters.

It was real now and she sounded terrified.

He moved to her, releasing her hand so that he could slide one palm around her waist to steady her, and with the other he eased to the back of her neck, his fingers starting up a sensual stroking rhythm, his touch sought to soothe her, but his heat and body spoke of tension and desire.

He guided her face up to his.

Her eyes were huge.

The shimmering emotion and love there made him dizzy, and hopeful.

Hopeful that she could see the same intensity reflected back at her.

Before their lips met again and his tongue expressed in fluid motion the way he felt.

And she returned his kisses with fervour, as his fingers set out to explore, starting with gentle touches to her face, her arms, her waist, before continuing to stroke, over her clothes, and growing braver, under her clothes.

Her fingers beginning their own investigation of his chest, his back, sliding through his hair and along his jaw, gentle, delicate examination, which tightened his hold on her.

Her lips sliding away to follow her touch, soft against the scratch of his chin, light against the bob of his Adam's apple, her kiss there causing him to swallow breathlessly.

Then he reluctantly stepped back, his eyes searching hers for permission, and receiving it, he eased the soft cardigan from her shoulders, hearing it rush to the floor like a cascade of silk.

Capturing her mouth again, his hands settled on her hips, determined to take it slow.

But she was twitching in moments, her stomach muscles fluttering as he glided a rough fingertip under the hem of her camisole, hearing her laugh softly into his mouth and she wiggled. With a slow, torturous slide he lifted the soft cotton up and away, halting their kiss only a few moments, their lips reapplied before the discarded fabric hit the floor.

Her underwear was dark red, as dark as the wine they had consumed and beneath the sensual curves of her breasts her heart was pounding madly against her skin, so hard he could see each separate beat.

His thumb brushed over the thump.

His own kept up in almost identical rhythm.

Her bra was released with only the vaguest of fumbling from him, the satin fabric so light it landed without a sound.

And slowly he separated from her again, a slight step back, to calm his racing body, to admire her in all her newly revealed glory.

Her pale skin gleamed, flushed by his kisses, by the warmth in the room, by what was about to happen.

He couldn't take his eyes off her, even when she swayed, a nervous look glinting in her eyes, her fingers beginning to curl at her sides as if she longed to cover herself from his intense gaze.

He murmured her name, "Sara," his eyes meeting hers full on, his tone one of wonder, "so beautiful."

The heat in her skin seemed to spread, cascading down her high peaked breasts, but that and an audible increase in her breathing were her only response.

So before she gave in to her nerves he continued, gently kissing her again working her up to a decent level of distraction before tumbling them both to the bed, the cool sheets, undulating as they landed.

Beneath him she gasped surprised at their change in position before her breathless, husky voice filled his ears.

"You changed the sheets, did you think you were going to get lucky, Mister?"

His laughter escaped so fast his whole body shook with it. His Sara was back!

She laughed too the sound tumbling into an aching sigh as his lips found her neck and slowly begin to stroke.

And she was completely in his arms, and he was in hers.

Feeling the warm welcome weight of her body as they rolled and tumbled.

God she felt good.

Her hot mouth duelled with his in blissful sweet kisses. Lazy and drunk on one another.

His hands clutching her tightly. The scent of her skin all around him.

Their legs slowly intertwining, naturally coming to rest pelvis to pelvis.

And instinctively he began to rock their bodies together; the friction of their remaining clothing a pleasant barrier for now.

His touch caressing over her soft exposed skin again, as her fingers worked in tandem to release the buttons on his shirt, revealing his chest.

Gasping into her mouth at the feel of her bared against him for the first time.

Her delicate nipples tracing patterns across his skin as she moved against him.

His lips escaped hers, needing a calming break before things began to spiral.

His hands capturing hers, before they reached their intended target of the buttoned fly of his jeans.

Kissing the pads of her fingers to placate her he let his lips take up motion again.

They trailed their way lower, lilting over the arch of her collarbone, pressing quick between her breasts, his beard faintly scratching its way down her stomach to the fastener on her own.

His tongue flickering into the concave of her sensitive bellybutton, and distracting her long enough to get her to easily lift her hips and allow him to divest her of her trousers.

Her underwear matched, which was a revelation met with a dirty grin.

She was watching him as he used his lips to climb back up her long legs, soft kisses landing on her ankle, her calf, each knee, he could feel her heart racing in every inch of her skin.

Her thighs were trembling, her attention on where he landed unwavering.

Her hands clutching tightly to his bedclothes.

Her breathing loud and erotic, ragged in the still air.

Higher and higher he climbed, making contact just above her knee.

To the tender inside of each thigh, the softest skin he had ever touched.

To where her pulse beat at the point where hip met thigh.

Against the heated silk barely covering the most intimate part of her.

His tongue flicking out to taste her.

Barely making contact with the fabric.

Before a strangled cry escaped her.

And she bolted.


End file.
